


pro bono

by sodium_amytal



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: A Bit of Fluff, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drama, Humor, Jealous Walt, M/M, Romance, Secret Relationship, Walt is a creeper, no seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-14 18:26:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 40,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1276399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodium_amytal/pseuds/sodium_amytal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I want you to promise me something. If you ever wanna drop off Walt’s radar for a while, just come here.” Saul’s promise sets Jesse on a life-altering course of change and growth. But Walt’s trying to force his way back into Jesse’s life, and if he ever found out that Saul and Jesse are more than just friends... Set in S3; runs from the end of “Mas” onward to the end of S4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Each relationship nurtures a strength or weakness within you_. ~ Mike Murdock

* * *

Saul knows interfering with Walt and Jesse's dysfunctional relationship is asking for trouble. He's not going to play marriage counselor whenever these two have a lover's spat, or even when Walt's wife screws her boss. After the whole debacle at Beneke Fabricators, Saul's amazed that Walt hasn't appeared on an episode of  _Cops_. But Walter White, with all his shortcomings, is the golden goose Saul's waited a lifetime for. Mediating Walt's piss-poor people skills is a necessary evil, so Saul finds himself arbitrating the thick wave of tension between Walt and Jesse to secure a sweet deal.

The Odd Couple are currently sitting across from him; Walt's the picture of stillness, calm and self-assured. Jesse's jittery and impatient, like he has some other pressing matter to tend to.

Saul lays out the details for Walt: "This young man is prepared to offer you a sweetheart of a deal for doing precisely nothing."

Jesse lolls his head back and lets out a loose breath. Mr. Exasperated.

Walt lifts an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Ten percent of all future profits from his solo venture; that's money you get paid for walkin' down to the mailbox. Consider it a gesture of respect for your contribution to the business thus far, which I'm sure you'll agree—that's fair."

Jesse looks over at Walt. "That's charity, 'swhat that is." Mr. Exasperated is now Mr. Instigator. "I do all the work; he sits around all day on his fat ass judging people."

"Hey! Escalating," Saul warns him. "Stop."

Walt gives Jesse a self-assured little smirk, as if Jesse's words could never wound him.

"So, there's that. Then there's one small detail," Saul continues. "Clearly, a mistake was made on the part of our mutual associate when he paid you half of Jesse's earnings. He must not have realized that you two had come to a parting of the ways—"

Saul stops talking when Walt drags a bulging paper bag out from under his jacket and plops it on Saul's desk. "Take it," Walt says to Jesse. "It belongs to you."

Jesse doesn't wait for Saul's permission; he snatches the bag for himself. "You're damn right it belongs to me."

Huh, well, problem solved? Saul leans back in his chair, proud of himself. "I knew I could count on you boys to play nice. It almost brings a tear to my eye."

Walt's face is unnerving and cold as he stares at Jesse, and he just  _has_  to exacerbate the bad blood between them. "Enjoy it. Spend it in good health. That is the last money you will ever earn in this business."

"What the hell is that s'posed to mean?" Jesse scoffs.

"Well, I hate to break it to you, Jesse, but our mutual associate was only using you to get to me," Walt tells him, taking way too much pleasure twisting the knife.

Jesse's voice loses some of its edge. "What're you talking about?"

"Well, he needs someone with expertise. Someone who knows what he's doing. In other words, he needs me."

Saul frowns. Sure, Jesse's a hot-headed brat and a liability. But the kid doesn't deserve this smug, holier-than-thou condescension. There's no shame in shaking hands and parting amicably. But Walt would rather squash Jesse under his heel.

"You tellin' me you're cookin' again?" Jesse asks.

"Let's see, how should I put this?" Walt ponders with a false air of sincerity. "I'm in. You're out." There's a subtext there Jesse reads loud and clear, because the words stall him as Walt rises to leave.

Well, if Walt's cooking again, Saul might as well take a cut. "Whoa, whoa, Walt, hold on there." Saul stops him before he reaches the door. "What was the offer there, if I may ask?"

"It's, uh, three million. For three months of my time."

Wow. That's more money than Saul sees in a year. Keeping Walt's ass covered ain't easy, but it's worth a slice of that pie. "Well, you're gonna need that money laundered, right? I mean, of course. What was our deal before? Seventeen percent? Hey, let's settle on fifteen percent. That's a nice, round, even number—"

"Five percent," Walt cuts in.

"Fourteen's fair."

"Five."

Jesus, guy. "Thirteen," Saul counters.

"Five."

"Twelve! For old's times sake? Twelve."

Walt's expression hardens. "Five."

"You're a reasonable guy; it's a short-term deal. Ten even. But I can't go any lower and still respect myself." Walt turns to leave. "Five!"

Jesse storms over to them, fury emanating off of him like heat off a sidewalk. "What the hell just happened? You're  _my_  lawyer, not his!"

Saul shrugs. "It's the way of the world, kid. Go with the winner."

Jesse grits his teeth, turns to focus his rage on Walt. "You think this'll stop me from cookin'?"

Walt's unfazed by Jesse's anger. His head tilts curiously. "Cook whatever you like. As long as it's that ridiculous chili P or some other dreck." There's a challenge in his voice when he says, "But don't even think about using my formula." It says for all the world that Walt doesn't think he could, even if Jesse wanted to.

And that's how things slot into place, and Saul finally puts a finger on why Walt and Jesse's little relationship gives him the skeeves: if Jesse were a woman and Walt treated her this way, what would be the first thought that pops into Saul's head?

The snide little comments, that arrogance and smug satisfaction, his unbridled offense at Jesse cooking solo, the whole teacher/student power dynamic... It all reeks of emotional abuse, like Walt's got the kid under his thumb and he  _knows_  it. What if Jesse's jittery fidgeting isn't impatience—what if he's  _scared_?

And it's not as if Jesse hasn't tried to detach from Walt; after he left rehab Jesse hasn't made any attempts to hook up with him again. Christ,  _Saul_  was the one who pushed Jesse into reconnecting with Walt, all for his own financial gain.

Saul does not like himself much right now.

"Just try and stop me, bitch," Jesse growls at Walt, moving for the door.

"Jesse, wait!" Saul blurts out. He rushes over to where Jesse's seething inside the door frame. "Hear me out for a minute before you go, please." The hurt echoes in Saul's voice and softens the angry mask of Jesse's face.

Walt's still standing there, watching them with cold eyes. "Hey, scram," Saul says, shooing him away. "We'll talk later."

Walt gives Saul a fierce look before he exits the room. Saul reaches out and shuts the door, ensuring their discussion stays private.

"What?" Jesse asks. He folds his arms over his chest, shoulders tense with anger seeking an outlet.

Saul's crossing a special line of wrong by intervening into Walt and Jesse's domestic disputes. But Walt's smug manipulation today set off alarms in Saul's brain, alarms he can't unring. He has to extend a lifeline to this poor kid, even if he's wrong. God, he  _hopes_  he's wrong.

"Look, Jesse, I..."

Saul contemplates telling Jesse about all the abusive relationships he's litigated over the years. Brutal, awful shit that haunts a special corner of his mind. By the time the girl—or guy—had come into his office, the damage was already done. But the stories they told always started the same way—and maybe ended the same, too.

But Jesse's probably heard enough sob stories to last him a lifetime. Clearly all the anti-drug high-school scare tactics didn't work with him. It's easy to be honest and emotional about something that happened to someone else, so Saul tries a more difficult, personal avenue. He plucks a business card from his pocket. "I want you to promise me something."

Saul fetches a pen from his desk and scribbles his cell phone number on the back of the card. "If you ever wanna drop off his radar for a while, just come here," Saul says. "I won't ask questions or make you do anything. You can sit there"—he gestures to the couch with his free hand—"and jerk off for all I care. Wait, no, don't do that—you'll ruin the upholstery."

Jesse cracks a small smile. Saul doesn't believe in eyes being windows to the soul, but with Jesse he does; the kid's got the bluest, saddest eyes he's ever seen. Saul want to reach out and hold him, but, Christ, would that be the wrong move.

"If it's after hours, call my cell. I wrote it on the back." He hands the card to Jesse. Jesse stares at the number as if it might hold the meaning to life. "You can stay at my place for a bit."

Jesse's brow furrows. Saul wonders if this is the first time anyone has reached out to him or given a damn when it wouldn't serve their own personal interests.

"Day or night. I don't care how late it is. I don't care if you're drunk, high, whatever. I want you to promise me you'll call when you want to get away from him."

"What're you talking about? We're not partners anymore. We're done."

"For now, sure. But ol' Walt's gonna get sick of working alone someday, and he's gonna go straight to you," Saul says. Walt's arrogance today wasn't born from empowerment or inner strength; he wanted to goad Jesse into reacting. Walt doesn't want Jesse making one cent unless he's involved somehow.

Jesse doesn't argue the point, which makes Saul's heart break anew. He wets his lips, glances up at Saul. "You're not even my lawyer anymore. Why do you care?"

Saul doesn't know how to answer that. The kid sure as hell isn't cut out for the drug trade. Something about him reminds Saul of a wounded animal caught in a bear trap. He nearly says "because you're worth more than that," but it feels like weakness, giving too much away. So he says instead, "Because I'm your friend."

Jesse looks dubious, but he nods and pockets the card.

"Hey, promise me, alright?"

"I promise."

#

One time when Jesse was little he wandered away from his parents at the park and discovered a beehive thrumming with activity. Being a stupid kid, he grabbed it, because bees are awesome. He wanted to touch one and see what the inside of a beehive looked like.

Instead, he learned what a shit-load of bee stings felt like.

But those bee stings were a soft pillow compared to this new pain that threatens to white out his vision and send him toppling over. He's lying in a hospital bed all because of Walt's fucking dickhead brother-in-law. His head is ringing, like there's an obnoxious cell phone stuck inside his skull he can't shut off. He's never realized until now that his face is just a fragile mask of bones and blood.

Jesse feels like he gets the shit kicked out of him on a weekly basis, but this time he doesn't have the luxury of pain medication to blot out the sickening way everything hurts. He's been doing pretty well staying clean—no way he's going back to the first day he tried to kick.

Saul's been sitting at Jesse's bedside for an hour now, reading something on his phone like he doesn't have anywhere more important to be. Jesse manages to say, "Why are you still here?" and, Jesus, it even hurts to talk. Someone up there fucking hates Jesse Pinkman.

"You want me to leave?"

Jesse shuts his good eye, shakes his head the best he can. "No. Just...why?"

"I thought I'd keep you company." He shrugs. "Everyone else on this floor is doped up on pain meds—which a little birdie tells me you've refused." Saul gives him a meaningful look. "Kudos to you for staying clean."

"Yeah, I feel fan-fucking-tastic," Jesse mumbles. "Don't you have anything better to do than hang around a hospital and bother the patients?"

"I'm actually surprisingly available today," Saul says with a little smile.

"Lucky me."

"And—don't spread this around—but maybe I feel a slight twinge of guilt you're lying here with a face that looks like pummeled ground beef."

Jesse tries a scowl, but it hurts, so he settles on cold indifference. "Guilt?"

Saul's mouth does a frowny, lip-bitey thing. "Well, yes. I had my secretary make the call to Schrader that saved your skinny ass."

"But Mr. White was the one who asked you to do it." What kind of ass-backwards day is this where Jesse's actually defending Saul?

Saul shrugs again. "I'm human enough to feel guilty for my role in this."

Huh. Jesse's got plenty of questions running through his head right now, but voicing them will only hurt, so he stays quiet for a bit. Then: "Did Mr. White tell you to watch me? In case I rat on him or his scumbag brother-in-law?"

Saul's mouth goes soft. "I'm here 'cause I wanna be. And, y'know, the guilt thing." He stretches his legs a little. "C'mon, I was raised Catholic. It's a hard habit to break."

Jesse furrows his brow and winces through the pain. "I thought you were Jewish."

Saul chuckles. "Not even close. Irish. But apparently everyone wants a Jewish lawyer."

Jesse makes a face.

"Hey, I don't make the stereotypes; I just play to 'em." Then he adds: "Real name's McGill, by the way."

"Uh, nice to meet you, I guess."

Saul gives him a funny look. "You sure you're not on any of the good drugs?"

Jesse manages a half-smile. "Fuck off."

"So, what're you gonna do when you get out?"

Jesse tries shrugging, but, fuck, okay, that's not happening either. He hides a wince. "Dunno. The RV's gone, so I can't cook."

"Maybe you should think about a career change. There's a whole world of legitimate business. Doesn't usually involve so many injuries."

"I ain't cut out for that."

"You're not cut out for this either; look at you, you got bones like paper mache."

"'S'not what I meant," Jesse grumbles. His jaw aches from talking so much.

Saul looks sad for a moment. "I think you could do whatever you wanted if you tried."

Jesse turns his head to focus his full attention on Saul. He can't find a trace of irony or falsehood on Saul's face. He might actually mean it. Holy shit.

"What do you want?" Jesse demands, realizing Saul's gambit. Because there  _has_  to be one, right? "You wanna be my lawyer when I sue this asshole? Is that it?"

Saul shakes his head. "I don't want anything from you, Jesse," he says. "I'm not like him."

They both know Saul doesn't mean Hank.

#

"I need a new lab assistant."

Walt has some goddamn nerve showing his pristine, unpummeled face here again. Jesse tries to glare at him, but it's hard to look menacing with one good eye. "I already did my time," he grates out. "Why don't you just go get yourself a monkey?"

"I don't want a monkey. I want you." Mr. Smooth.

"Gee, thanks. Not interested." Jesse wishes he could set Walt on fire with his mind. "I got my own thing goin' on. And nice try, saving your ass-head brother-in-law."

Walt rolls his eyes. "That's not why I'm here, Jesse. There's more. It's more than an assistant.  _Partner_. We'll be partners again." He knows how much the endearment means to Jesse, and he's using it to his full advantange. "Split everything fifty-fifty just like before. One-point-five million dollars...each."

"No."

Walt blinks, his jaw clenching like he didn't expect to be refused. "I don't think you—"

"I heard you fine. I said no."

Walt clearly has no concept of the word no or what it means. "Let me get this straight: you are turning down one and a half million dollars?"

"I am not turning down the money," Jesse growls, leaning closer. "I am turning down  _you_! You get it? I want nothing to do with you!" He tries not to take comfort in watching Walt's expression crumble, but he can't help it; he's only human. "Ever since I met you, everything I have ever cared about is gone! Ruined, turned to shit, dead—ever since I hooked up with the great Heisenberg!" The rage bubbling beneath the surface erupts, anger cresting over him. "I have never been more alone! I have nothing! No one! Alright? It's all gone! Get it?"

Something Jesse can't identify flickers over Walt's face, but it stokes the fire of his anger. His fingers clench the blankets until his knuckles turn white. "No, no, no, why—why would you get it? What do you even care, as long as you get what you want, right?"

Walt looks wounded by Jesse's tirade, and the fact that Jesse pities him makes the anger blaze.

"You don't give a shit about me! You said I was no good! I'm nothing! Why would you want me, huh? You said my meth is inferior, right? Right?" Something ripples across Jesse's chest as Walt moves to leave, fury boiling in his veins. Because it's always about what Walt wants, what he can  _use_. "Hey! You said my cook was garbage! Hey, screw you, man! Screw you!"

For a half-second Jesse worries he was too harsh. Then he hates himself for giving a shit about Walt's feelings. Jesse's beaten face serves as evidence that Walt gives precisely zero fucks about Jesse's well-being.

Walt turns to face him, pain radiating from his entire being. "Your meth is good, Jesse. As good as mine."

Jesse scoffs a harsh, bitter laugh. On a normal day, he would have believed Walt. But it had taken Saul Goodman to sit at Jesse's bedside, asking nothing in return for his presence, to strengthen Jesse's resolve. Saul had said Jesse could do whatever he wanted. He didn't try to talk Jesse into cooking again or any illegal activity requiring his services. He didn't ask for a percentage to launder the money Jesse received from his half of the last cook.

Saul, for some strange, unknown reason, believes in Jesse; Walt doesn't. He pretends to, but he has never once said anything kind to Jesse without an ulterior motive behind his words.

Just like he's doing now.

And Jesse's had enough.

"Get out," Jesse orders.

Walt does as he's told, shutting the door behind him. Jesse squeezes his eye shut and lets the tears come.

#

Skinny Pete drives Jesse home from the hospital later that day. Watching Walt's asshole brother-in-law carried into the ER definitely lifts Jesse's spirits. But the momentary mirth wanes. Jesse doesn't have much left now. With the RV destroyed, he can't cook on his own, and Jesse refuses to go back to Walt.

So, what now?

While Skinny Pete's inside the gas station buying snacks, Jesse digs Saul's card out of his wallet and dials the number. "Hey," Jesse says after Saul answers, "this is me takin' you up on that promise."

Saul's grinning when Jesse arrives at his office. "It's good to see you, kid."

Jesse nods vacantly, easing onto the couch. He still feels fragile, like his internal organs haven't had a chance to settle yet. "So I told him off. Said I wasn't gonna cook for his greedy ass anymore."

"I guess he didn't take it well."

Jesse shrugs. "Yeah, well, screw him."

Saul smiles. "Good for you." He moves across the floor. "Go on and get comfortable. You caught me at a good time. Lunch break." He flips open the styrofoam container on his desk.

"You eat in here?"

"No place like home, right?" Saul drops into his chair. Jesse blinks. "That was a joke." Jesse's expression doesn't change. Saul opens his laptop. "Do what you want—within reason."

Jesse lounges on the couch for a few minutes before growing bored. He gets up, moves over to the bookshelf along the wall. Nothing in particular grabs his eye. Saul's office isn't exactly brimming with interesting reading material. If you don't think law is the most fascinating fucking thing on the planet, you're outta luck.

"You got anything that isn't boring?"

"What does this look like, a library?" Saul says around a mouthful of fried rice. "Bring your own reading material next time."

Jesse sighs at Saul's uncalled-for sass. "You got any paper?"

Saul digs a legal pad out of his desk drawer and hands it over. Jesse snags a pen from the collection on Saul's desk and heads back to the couch. He's a little rusty at first. The last time he remembers drawing something was with Jane. But it's sort of like riding a bike; his lines become looser and more fluid as he fills up the first page. Drawing used to be therapeutic for him, relaxing in a way he desperately needed back when Aunt Ginny was sick.

Jesse's got a full-page illustration going of a skeleton riding a burro through a street parade when Saul asks, "Did you draw that?"

"No, they just appeared on the page. Magic."

Saul makes a face. He can dish it out but he can't take it. "It's not bad. You got some untapped talent in that head of yours."

Jesse smiles despite the pain. "You think so?"

"Yeah, definitely." Saul moves over to the couch to get a closer look at Jesse's art. "How long've you been drawing?"

"Since, like, forever, I guess. I was always drawing as a kid; I used to draw me and my friends as superheroes." He chuckles at the memory. "I made up these really lame comics about how we'd beat up bad guys with, like, random, useless powers. There was a dude that was half-kangaroo, half-man, and he carried around another guy in his pouch."

"Only the female kangaroos have pouches, though."

"I know that  _now_ ," Jesse groans, because he had this same conversation with Jane. His heart aches in his chest. "You're expecting way too much if you want total accuracy here. Besides, he could'a been a mutant. Like one of the X-Men."

Saul sits on the arm of the couch. Jesse scoots away to give him more room. "So Kangaroo Joe's power was, what, the pouch?"

"His name was Kanga-Man," Jesse mumbles.

Saul can't help it; he starts laughing. "That's even worse! At least Kangaroo Joe is clever, in a pun-like way."

Jesse's face heats up. "He doesn't just have the pouch; he's got super-strong legs and a tail. And he can carry stuff in the pouch."

"So he's basically a guy with a giant fanny pack?"

"I thought it was cool when I was twelve, man!"

"I can see Nick Fury recruiting Kangaroo Joe for the Avengers. 'Can you stuff a pair of pants in your pouch for Bruce Banner after he Hulks out? You can? Welcome to the Avengers Initiative!'"

Jesse finds himself smiling. "Do you actually know anything about comics?"

"I might," Saul says with a hint of mischief. Before Jesse can tug that thread, Saul says, "I know you didn't ask for my opinion, but since you're sittin' here for free, I figure I'm entitled to handing out some unsolicited advice: you got a gold mine here." He taps Jesse's drawing for emphasis. "You and Mexican Skeleton Jesus could be huge."

Jesse snorts a laugh. "What?"

"That's not Jesus riding a donkey into Jerusalem? Y'know, Palm Sunday?"

Jesse looks at Saul, then back to his drawing. "No? It's based on this game I used to play in high school."

"I feel like this needs elaboration."

Jesse turns so his body's facing Saul. "We had this computer class, right, where you learned to type and all that good shit. And each computer had different games on it, like Roller Coaster Tycoon, Sim Park, and Myst. There was this one game with skeletons that took place in Mexico or somethin', and, I dunno, I thought it was really cool. Atmospheric and shit. So, yeah." He taps the end of his pen against the paper. "That was my, uh,  _inspiration_."

Saul scratches his chin. "I still think Mexican Skeleton Jesus is better."

"That would be an awesome band name, yo. I should tell Badger to change ours."

Saul lifts an eyebrow. "You have a band?"

"Yeah. Twaughthammer. We're sorta on hiatus though."

"Because of the meth thing?"

Jesse nods and looks away.

"All I'm saying is Jack Kirby didn't have to launder his money, or find himself in the hospital from job-related beatings."

"I guess you'd want a cut if I got rich doin' comics, huh?"

Saul seems bewildered by the accusation. "What? No."

Jesse can't believe what he's hearing; one, Saul actually believes he has potential, and two, Saul isn't trying to make money off of him. "Oh, you're for real? Just doin' this outta the goodness of your heart 'cause you're a great guy?"

Saul shrugs. "Hey, I gotta live up to my name."

"Smart-ass," Jesse says with a smile. He turns his attention to the drawing pad in his lap and starts cross-hatching the skeleton's sombrero. Saul watches him draw for a moment or two before walking back to his desk.


	2. Chapter 2

Over the next few days, Jesse spends a couple hours in Saul's office. Saul couldn't be happier, because the less time Jesse spends with Walter White the better. Jesse's bruises are healing; only a small nick or two remain on his pretty, young face. It's like watching him heal from the inside out, although Saul's not enough of an egotist to think he's got anything to do with it.

Sometimes Jesse brings books to read, sometimes he draws on looseleaf paper or legal pads. They talk during Saul's breaks, but Jesse spends most of the time with his earbuds in to drown out Saul's conversations with clients—a stipulation Saul had insisted on if Jesse wanted to stay in the room. And, okay, maybe Saul bends his own rules a little and lets Jesse smoke a cigarette or two in the office. He's nice like that.

"So, what're you gonna do next?" Saul asks one afternoon during a break.

Jesse's hand pauses over the paper, and he gets a lost, wounded look on his face.

"I'm not pushing," Saul says. "I'm just curious. Maybe I can help. Not to brag, but I've got connections."

Jesse's mouth twists into something contemplative. "I don't know. I just—I don't know what to do. Maybe I should start cookin' again..."

Saul sits on the arm of the couch near Jesse. "Something tells me you didn't go into making meth because it gave you the warm fuzzies."

Jesse breathes out a long exhale. "I was good at it," he says, like that's all that matters.

"You're good at this." Saul taps Jesse's sketchpad for emphasis.

Jesse looks at him, then back to the sketchbook. Saul wishes he knew the thoughts in Jesse's head so he could console him.

"And you're doin' it 'cause you want to, not because anybody told you you have to. That's somethin' special." Jesse looks at him again, and Saul meets his eyes. "C'mon, kid, in my experience, nobody cooks meth because they've got a passion for the drug business."

Jesse thinks it over and settles into the couch. "You really think I could draw for a living?"

"Why not? It's worth lookin' into if you don't know what else to do."

Saul holds his breath while Jesse watches him for a moment. "Why do you give a shit?" Jesse asks. "Why do you care what happens to me?"

"Because you're worth a hell of a lot more than Walt gives you credit for."

Jesse's mouth opens for a moment with no sound. His forehead dents, eyes going wide and sad. "Aren't you s'posed to be his lawyer?"

"Look, Walt might be disgustingly rich, but that doesn't mean he's Man of the Year. I don't have to wear rose-colored glasses 'cause he pays my bills."

Jesse nods like he understands, but his expression is still pretty confused. He starts drawing again after Saul's gone back to his desk.

#

"Since you've taken up babysitting, I've got a couple nieces who'd just love you."

Saul's getting ready to leave for the night, sees Francesca standing in the doorway to his office looking smug. "What?"

"That little arrangement you've got going with Pinkman?"

"It's not  _babysitting_ ," Saul argues, trying to find a nicer word, because, really, it absolutely is. "It's...sanctuary."

To her credit, Francesca tries not to laugh. She covers her mouth and snorts a graceless sound.

"Okay, that may have been a particularly melodramatic way to phrase it."

"Just a bit."

Saul sighs and leans back against his desk. "It's complicated. He's in deep with an ex-partner, I'm offering him boots."

She quirks an eyebrow at him. "Kid must be loaded." Saul makes a face, and that's when Francesca gets it. "Oh no, is this a charity crusade?"

Saul winces, and, no, he doesn't have a decent argument for that. He's pretty much doing this out of the goodness of his heart, but that sounds cheesy as fuck said out loud. "I'm gonna go ahead and plead the fifth here."

Francesca pokes a finger at his chest. "Aw, you  _do_  have a heart in there!"

"A little lower, sweetheart."

She smirks. "Saul has a crush on a boy," she sing-songs at him before leaving the room. Saul just grumbles under his breath because, yeah, maybe she's right.

#

Jesse's sucking on a cigarette when Saul hangs up the phone. "Just a heads-up: Walt's coming by and he's bringing the missus. You might wanna lay low for a while."

Jesse takes one last puff and stubs the cigarette in the ashtray. "Thanks." He gathers his things at a glacial pace.

Saul snaps his fingers. "C'mon, chop-chop. Daylight's wastin'."

Jesse glares at him. "You want me out that bad?"

Saul cringes at how awful it sounds said out loud. "No, no, I don't want him seeing you here. Both our asses are on the line, because Walt strikes me as the jealous boyfriend sort."

The offense on Jesse's face melts away. "So, what, I'm cheatin' on Mr. White with you?"

Saul blushes at the innuendo there, because it's not like he hasn't thought about it. He's wondered what it would be like to touch Jesse, to kiss the words out of his mouth. But everyone who's ever met Jesse has probably thought the same things, so Saul doesn't feel too weird. "That's exactly what you're doing, sans romantic intent and/or sexual touching." Jesse gives him an odd look, but Saul says, "Just go. I'll let you know when the coast is clear."

Walt must be losing his mind, because he's invited his wife—albeit smart as a whip and gorgeous to boot—in on his money laundering scheme. Saul still has no idea how those two found each other, although it makes about as much sense and himself and Jesse.

He chastises himself for the thought. If he ever acted on it, even casually, Jesse would read into it as an expectation. All the trust Saul's been building would fall apart like a lopsided Jenga puzzle.

Walt casts a suspicious glance at the ashtray on the table before he leaves. Saul feels an icy finger run up his spine.

#

Jesse's cell phone rings around eight o'clock at night. He reaches out, thinking it's Saul or Badger or Skinny Pete. He reads the name on the caller ID, and his heart freezes in his chest.

Mr. White.

With fumbling fingers, Jesse answers the phone. "Yo."

"Jesse? How are you feeling?" Walt's whispering, so Jesse deduces he's still at home. He glances out the window, just in case.

"Better." Walt wouldn't have called if he didn't want something, so Jesse waits for him to ask whatever bullshit favor he wants.

"That's good. I'm glad."

Jesse gives an impatient handroll.

"I wanted to ask you if we could talk. Our last conversation was—well, I hate to have things end that way, Jesse. After everything we've been through..." Walt sighs. "I want to patch things up."

"You can forget about tryin' to get me to cook for you," Jesse insists. "That ship has sailed."

"I'm not asking you to cook for me, Jesse. I'm asking for the chance to reconcile. Will you give me that, at least?"

Jesse feels the sting of Walt's words under his skin, the subtle pinpricks of manipulation. Framing it like Jesse would be unreasonable to say no. Like he owes Walt a damn thing. "What's to reconcile? We're not friends. I don't know what the hell we are, but you're not on the top of my Christmas card list, that's for damn sure."

"Jesse."

"Just leave me alone, Mr. White. Haven't you done enough?" Jesse hangs up, unwilling to hear Walt yell at him or play to his emotions. His body thinks the fight-or-flight response is appropriate now and makes his hands go jittery. Seconds later, Jesse's cell phone trills again.

It's Walt. Of course.

Jesse grunts and lets it ring while he digs Saul's card out of his wallet. He turns over the card, finds Saul's personal number. He dials once the phone's gone silent.

"Saul Goodman."

"Yo, it's me."

Saul sounds surprised to hear his voice. "Hey, kid! Is ol' Heisenberg buggin' you?"

Jesse rubs his neck. "Yeah, I guess you could say that. I dunno, I feel like he might come over to talk to me. I sorta told him to leave me alone, and, y'know, he doesn't take no for an answer."

Saul sighs, like he knows exactly what Jesse means. "Yeah, I think he was out sick the day they taught boundaries. Well, hey, come on over if you want. I just got home, so you can help me make dinner, I guess. It's taco night."

"Hell yeah." Jesse grins. "Alright, I'll swing by."

Saul gives him the address, and Jesse throws on his shoes and heads out the door.

He pulls out of his driveway and doesn't see Walt's car lurking anywhere, so he figures he's safe. But he watches for Walt until he reaches Saul's place, which is so much fancier than Jesse pictured in his head. And why wouldn't it be? Saul is flashy and tacky as hell, in a charming sort of way.

Jesse sits there in front of Saul's house for a nervous handful of moments. His knee twitches, and his fingers drum on the steering wheel. This is ridiculous. He's been kidnapped and held hostage in the desert by a trigger-happy drug dealer—twice, actually. He's broken into a filthy house inhabited by junkies and been held at gunpoint. He's seen a dude's head get crushed by an ATM. He's been stranded in the desert for four days.

There is no reason for him to be nervous now.

Also, he needs to stop going to the desert, because it only brings terrible, traumatizing things.

Jesse gets out of his car and walks to the front porch. He knocks on the door. Saul greets him with a smile. He's wearing sweatpants and a faded t-shirt. His hair might also be a little damp. "Is it secret? Is it safe?"

"Calm your tits, Gandalf. I wasn't followed."

Saul grins, pleased Jesse got the reference. "C'mon in then." Jesse gets a whiff of cologne as Saul leads him into the bright, airy living room, and, whoa, Saul smells really good. Not that Jesse's in the habit of smelling people.

"I hope you're hungry," Saul says once they're in the kitchen.

"Yeah, I know: taco night."

"Actually, it's more of a taco pie, I suppose, but that's cool 'cause you're gonna eat it anyway."

"I'm still trying to deal with seeing you wear normal clothes. You look like an actual person." Seriously, Saul Goodman is wearing a t-shirt; this is damaging to Jesse's world view.

"And what did I look like before?"

"You know what I mean, dude."

"I know. I just like giving you shit." Saul smirks, and it's actually kind of cute.

Jesse is in way over his head.

#

"How have you not caused a disastrous kitchen fire already?" Saul asks in disbelief as Jesse's browning the ground beef. "When I said 'help with dinner' I was mostly referring to handing me things and setting timers."

"Meth's not the only thing I can cook," Jesse says with a grin.

Saul smiles back, but he still looks suspicious, like he expects flames to burst out of the pan. "You're not insulted that I'm surprised, right? I mean, I figured your diet consisted of Cheetos and Top Ramen."

"I know how to follow a recipe," Jesse says, because he's not exactly a chef. "I used to cook a lot for my aunt when she got sick. And, no, there were no kitchen fires." Jesse thinks about sticking his tongue out at Saul but decides against it.

Saul's watching him with dubious concern. "And she can, uh, verify this?"

"If she was alive, yeah," Jesse says, and he hears the bitterness in his voice.

Saul's playful expression vanishes like he's witnessed someone kicking a puppy. "I'm a horrible person. I'm sorry."

Jesse shakes his head. "Nah, it's fine. You 'accept things,' or 'make room for the pain,' or whatever the fuck they tell you in group."

"How long?"

"A couple years ago. It was lung cancer." He sniffles. "Same thing Mr. White has."

Saul's face goes worryingly sad for a moment before he reaches for the spatula Jesse's wielding. Jesse moves his hand away. "Will you chill? I got this. C'mon, if I can cook crystal, I can brown up some taco meat."

Saul continues to look unsure and dubious, but he doesn't cast any more suspicious glances Jesse's way or doubt his ability, which makes Jesse feel proud. Saul seems to take Jesse on his word and think he's capable of succeeding, which is a hell of a lot more than Walt ever did for him.

And Walt never invited Jesse to his house and cooked dinner with him either, so, there's that.

After getting the casserole in the oven, Saul says, "We got about thirty minutes 'til we eat. You up for a movie?"

Jesse wonders if their taste in movies is remotely similar. "Not if it sucks."

"The only movies I own that suck are movies that suck hilariously," Saul corrects. "Go on, take a look." He points Jesse to his massive DVD collection. Jesse recognizes some familiar titles on the shelves:  _Iron Man_ ,  _Batman Begins_ , a couple seasons of  _Archer_... Okay, maybe they can agree on something after all.

"What the hell is  _The Room_?"

"The best worst movie ever!" Saul says. "It's a train-wreck of cinematic bad decisions. And that's what we're watching, because you need to experience it for yourself." He flips the DVD into the tray and flops onto the couch. Jesse joins him, a little reluctant at first because Saul's couch isn't exactly spacious, but he eases into familiarity once the opening credits start.

"See, right away the movie's warning you it's gonna be terrible by putting Tommy Wiseau's name under every credit," Saul explains.

"So, what, is this, like, a low-budget horror movie or somethin'?"

Saul laughs knowingly and pats Jesse's knee; Jesse feels his face heat up from the contact. "Just watch."

"Oh my God," Jesse says with a pronounced frown five minutes later. "What is even happening? Is that seriously the real actor?"

"At the risk of cheapening the word 'actor,' yes."

Jesse rubs a hand over his face. "Oh Jesus. It was funny at first but now it's just sad. I'm embarrassed for everyone involved in this."

"It gets funny again, don't worry. Actually, it gets hilarious."

It's pretty hilarious already, because Saul's casually inserting his own comments throughout the movie, but Jesse settles in and keeps watching. It's absolutely a train-wreck, and he can't look away.

"Drinking game: take a shot every time somebody says 'oh, hi.'"

Jesse scowls. "I think there's quicker, less painful ways to kill yourself. Also, this Mark dude is a fuckin' moron. She wants to sleep with you, dumbass!" he yells at the screen, impassioned.

Saul's wearing a smile that won't quit; clearly he finds Jesse's angry confusion and protest amusing.

The oven timer dings, and Saul slides his way off the couch. "Don't bother pausing; I won't miss anything."

"How many times have you seen this?" Jesse isn't sure he wants an answer; that way lies disappointment and horror.

"It's a true test of friendship; if someone can sit through  _The Room_ , they're a keeper."

"Do you do this on dates?"

"First dates? No." Saul laughs at the look of terror on Jesse's face. "I'm kidding!" He takes the casserole out of the oven and brings it to the couch. "You don't mind eatin' out of here, do you?"

"Nah, it's cool." Anything to distract Jesse from how awful this movie is.

"So, hey, slap me if I ever doubt you again," Saul says after they start eating. "You absolutely can follow a recipe and cook meat."

Jesse smiles despite himself. "I told you."

Saul holds up a hand. "And I was wrong. I'm self-aware enough to admit my shortcomings."

"But not to admit this movie blows."

"Of course it does. That's why it's so entertaining. You really expect a guy with that—Oh, wait, wait, this part is gold!"

And that's when Jesse witnesses about ten seconds of the absolute worst acting ever put on film, and he just  _can't_  anymore. He shrieks laughter, head tipped back against the couch. His whole body hurts from laughing, and he holds onto it as long as he can, because it's been forever since he's been able to let go like this. He's never had light, effortless fun with Walt; there's always been some sort of stress or motive underneath it all. But Saul just wants to share dinner and an awful movie with Jesse. It's hard not to fall for him a little bit.

"I think this movie was written by a crazy person," Jesse says when he can breathe again. "Nobody talks like this."

"Notice how everyone delivers their lines with Tommy Wiseau's weird, unnatural inflections?"

Jesse groans. "Shit, now I can't unhear it. Thanks for that."

"See, I think I enhance the movie-viewing experience," Saul says, which is kind of true. "It's like RiffTrax, but with one guy."

Jesse gives him a curious, confused look. "What?"

"Don't tell me you don't know what RiffTrax is?" Jesse blinks. Saul huffs disappointment. "Oh, Jesus. We're gonna have to fix that."

Jesse shovels in another forkful of delicious taco pie to prevent himself from revealing more sad and shameful gaps in his knowledge of pop culture.

"Do these guys do anything else besides throw a football back and forth?" he wonders aloud about halfway through the movie. "This whole thing would be, like, ten minutes long if they cut out all the pointless, repetitive shit."

"But where's the fun in that?"

"You mean 'fun' in sarcastic quotes, right?"

Saul laughs and sprawls out a little bit more. Jesse wants to lean against his shoulder, initiate some sort of physical contact. But he doesn't know where the line is, or if Saul will judge him for trying. Jesse's not sure what he's feeling here, if this is the need to be close to another warm body or something else entirely. Some of it feels familiar, a nervous little knot in his stomach he hasn't had since...well, since Jane.

 _Oh_.

Is that what this is about?

No, no, it has to be a friend thing—confusing friendship feelings for something deeper. Jesse hasn't thought about being with someone in that way since Jane passed. His instincts bit down on it, shoved it away into some dark corner. But Saul treats him right and talks to him like he matters, like Jesse's not just some pathetic junkie whose saving grace is cooking meth.

He thinks they could work, and this could be the one thing that goes right. Saul could give him a nice, healthy life full of praise and promise. Jesse could focus on his art and make a decent living. They could be happy. But Jesse knows it would never be so simple. The last time he was happy...

He shuts his eyes, unwilling to go there again.

It's around eleven o'clock when they're finished eating and the movie's over. Jesse stretches his legs out and yawns. "Jesus, that was... I don't know what the fuck that was."

"You're a changed man, huh?"

"I'm not sure it's a change for the better," Jesse grumbles. But he can't be too upset, because he spent two hours on the couch with Saul. No complaining here.

"Well, next time we can watch something you like."

Jesse can't stop the goofy smile from spreading on his face. "Next time?"

"Yeah, why not?" Saul shrugs like it's not even a thing, like hanging out at Saul's house is something they just  _do_  now. "Door's always open."

Jesse's pretty sure he's smiling like an idiot, but he doesn't care. "Wow, Mr. White never had an open-door policy."

"'Cause he's a dick," Saul says, and Jesse doesn't think he's joking, but he laughs anyway because it's true.

Saul shows him to the door a little while later after Jesse's shoved his feet into his shoes and put his hoodie back on. The cold night air bites at his skin. "Thanks," he says, "for letting me crash for a bit, I mean. It was cool." Jesse makes himself shut up and watches Saul's face for any signs of regret.

"A promise is a promise."

Jesse grins. "I guess I'll see you around, huh?"

He's halfway to his car when Saul clears his throat. Jesse freezes. "Hey, look, if he, uh, if he's staking out your place when you get home...you know you can come back, right?"

Jesse's eyes widen, because, no, he had no idea Saul's hospitality would extend that far, but he nods and says, "Yeah, sure. Thanks."

So, yeah, Jesse's platonically dating Saul Goodman. Hell yeah, bitch.


	3. Chapter 3

Francesca's waiting for Saul when he arrives at his office the next morning. "Why are you so frowny?"

"I'm not. That's just how my face looks."

She's immune to his sarcasm by now. "Does this have anything to do with Jesse?" she asks, lips curled into a grin when his face goes hot at the name.

"Absolutely not."

She lifts an eyebrow and slaps a file on his desk as he sits down, but he barely pays it any mind. "Did something happen?"

Saul groans. "I really don't want to discuss this with you."

"Because you have  _so_  many other friends."

"Y'know, sometimes your words hurt."

"Oh, grow a pair and talk to me."

He huffs a long, dramatic sigh. Apparently this conversation is unavoidable. "I might have sorta gone on a date with him last night."

"'Sorta'?"

"He came to my place. Dinner and a movie."

"That's absolutely a date," Francesca says, smirking a little. Then: "Oh God, you didn't make him watch  _The Room_ , did you?"

"It wasn't a date!" He drags a hand over his face. "I made him promise to call me if he wanted to get away from his psycho ex-boyfriend/meth chef Walter White. That's why Jesse's been coming here so much."

"Right, sanctuary."

Saul really wishes he'd used a less pretentious word. "I gave him my cell number in case Walt bothers him after hours. When he called last night the office was closed, so I had him come over."

She taps a perfectly-manicured nail on his desk. "Just tell him how you feel," she says, like it's that simple.

"The problem with Walter, by the way, is he's a manipulative scumbag who's only nice to Jesse when he wants something from the kid."

She frowns, understanding his dilemma now. "He would know you're different, right?"

Saul shakes his head. "No, he wouldn't."

Francesca sighs. "Why do you always pick the complicated ones?"

"I've been trying to figure that out for years." He chuckles humorlessly.

Saul doesn't hear from Jesse for a couple days, and it sends him into a slight state of panic and confusion. Left to his own devices, Saul's going to assume the worst-case scenario. What if Walt followed Jesse and picked him up after he left Saul's house? Walt's a slippery motherfucker; Saul wouldn't put it past him to pull a stunt like that.

Saul wonders if he should text Jesse or if that would fall into the "unwanted contact" category. Even if Saul gets a "fuck off" in reply, he'd at least know whether Jesse is alive. Confirming Jesse's safety now is more important than hurt feelings.

But he doesn't want to come off as clingy or give the impression Jesse's not allowed to have his own space. Jesse's been the one intitating contact so far, and it's worked pretty well. Maybe he needs a break.

He leaves the ball in Jesse's court and goes temporarily mad in the process. Francesca's even bringing him coffee to placate him, a task which she usually performs with disdain and scowling.

Jesse shows up two days later, and Francesca is exceptionally gleeful when she informs Saul. "Jesse's here," she trills, buzzing him in.

"Yo," Jesse says. He shuts the door and flops onto the leather couch. "'Sup?"

Saul gapes at him. "Where the hell have you been? I thought Walt snatched you up and was performing terrible meth-related experiments on you in his super-lab!"

Jesse scrunches his face. "What? 'Meth-related experiments'? What are you talking about?"

"I don't know. This is my third cup of coffee today." Saul holds up his mug—emblazoned with "World's Greatest Lawyer"—to emphasize his point. "I'm going slightly crazy."

Jesse watches him like he has great, overwhelming concerns for Saul's mental state. "Sorry. I got caught up building a portfolio, y'know, for school."

"You're actually considering it? That's great!"

Jesse grins. "Yeah, why not? It's worth a shot, right?"

"Absolutely. I have nothing but high hopes for you," Saul says. Jesse rubs the back of his neck and looks away, his cheeks pink with chagrin. The kid still doesn't know how to take a compliment, but that's okay, because he's gonna get used to it. "You didn't call this time. Any particular reason?"

Jesse's mouth does some weird pinching thing. "Oh, well, I guess I figured since you let me chill at your place we kinda passed that point. But I can call next time." He squirms in his seat. "I just forgot. Sorry."

Saul doesn't mind; he's flattered Jesse's comfortable enough with him to drop by, like they're best friends. "Don't worry about it."

Jesse stays uncharacteristically quiet today, opting to bury his nose in a book rather than talk. Generally, Saul doesn't mind the silence, but this time he finds it unnerving. At least he has plenty of meetings to distract himself from Jesse's unusual behavior.

After what seems like an eternity, Jesse straightens up on the couch and sets his book aside. He clears his throat awkwardly. "Y'know, you're nothin' like Mr. White."

Saul fucking hopes not, because, wow, but he understands what Jesse's trying to say underneath all the clumsy layers. "Some compliment, kid." Because he wouldn't be Saul if he didn't tease Jesse a little.

"I mean, you're not a total dick. You don't boss me around. You're just...cool, I guess."

Saul smiles and moves a bit closer. "I'm finally cool? Oh, wait 'til my high school class hears about this."

Jesse breathes a quiet little laugh; Saul wonders how many of his jokes spring from the desire to make Jesse smile. He sits on the arm of the couch and watches Jesse fidget with his hoodie sleeves. "Mr. White can be cool sometimes, but it's never for free, y'know? It's always 'cause he wants somethin'."

Saul can't help but feel proud Jesse finally sees it for himself.

Jesse goes quiet for a moment and stares at his hands. His brow creases like he's having some sort of internal fight. Saul wants to kiss the contemplative line of his mouth. "So, uh, do you wanna hang out again? Like, for fun?" His bright blue eyes are wide, soft lips slightly parted.

Saul doesn't say anything, too stunned to properly form words, and Jesse back-pedals almost immediately. "I mean, it doesn't have to be just 'cause Mr. White's a pain in my ass, right?"

"You didn't learn your lesson last night?" Saul realizes as soon as that's out of his mouth how dirty it sounds; he'll just pretend Jesse didn't hear it. "Alright, if you like watching awful movies that much, sure."

"You said I get to pick next time, remember?" Jesse's mouth twitches upward. "But, hey, who says we have to chill at your place, y'know? We could go somewhere, do something fun." He shrugs. "If you want."

If Saul's hearing properly, Jesse asked him out on a date. Maybe Jesse's been thinking the same things Saul's been thinking about. Best not to push him, though. Let him take baby steps. Moving too fast will only spook him. "Sure, I can dig it."

Jesse snorts. "I don't think anyone's said that since, like, the seventies."

"Oh, drat. Did I lose cool points?"

"Nah, you can keep your points." Jesse leans back a little, as if he'd been holding his breath waiting for Saul to accept his olive branch of platonic dating. "So, where do you wanna go? Anything cool I should check out?"

"I wouldn't mind letting you choose. I trust your judgement."

Jesse looks bewildered before beaming a cute little smile. "Alright, awesome."

#

On Saul's next day off work, they have lunch at a quaint little diner in town. It's so bright and public Saul worries Walt might catch them and enact some horrible revenge plot. But Jesse doesn't seem worried, sprawled in a booth by the window and sipping on a milkshake. Sunlight streams in through the blinds and illuminates his hair with a brilliant golden hue. He's wearing a dark t-shirt that fits him pretty well. There's an elaborate design on the front of the shirt, but Jesse's exposing more skin here than Saul's ever seen him show. It's hard to focus on anything else.

Jesse's all smiles when Saul slides into the booth opposite him. The straw slips from Jesse's lips, and Saul wants to lick his way into his mouth and taste the sticky-wet sweetness there. "Hey, you made it! Thought you might'a changed your mind."

"Why would I do that?"

"'Cause nobody's ever really spent time with me for no reason," Jesse says, and Saul feels a stab of guilt. Jesse definitely has to make the first move; if Saul does it Jesse's going to assume that's the reason. "I'm a criminal, yo. People don't stick around when they find out."

Saul refuses to believe that, because Jesse is a goddamn delight under his bratty punk façade. "What about Badger? You gotta have some other friends, right?"

"Yeah, but me and my crew have sorta drifted apart since I started gettin' clean." He shrugs, like it doesn't matter, and shoves the straw back in his mouth. "It's cool, though. I mean, I know they're tryin' to help. And I don't talk to anybody at the meetings. I can't afford the temptation. I know that sounds shitty."

Saul shakes his head. "No, you do what you need to do. You come first."

Jesse half-smiles for the briefest moment. His hand's wrapped around his glass, exposing the intricate design of his tattoo. Saul wants to trace the ink with his fingers, chase the pattern with his mouth. "Has he, uh, has he talked to you?" Jesse asks.

Saul knows who he means. "I haven't told him anything about you."

"He asks about me?"

"Once in a while." Every time Walt meets with Saul he inquires about Jesse, but Saul's not going to stress the kid more by telling him that. Jesse's brow creases with worry, and Saul says, "I won't sell you out, Jesse."

Jesse nods like he believes him. He takes another sip from his milkshake and fishes out the bright red cherry inside the glass. He takes the stem between his thumb and forefinger. When Jesse plucks the juicy berry into his mouth, Saul's brain just...stops.

They order food shortly afterwards. Jesse shoves his milkshake aside to dig into the monstrous bacon cheeseburger in front of him. He makes a pornographic sound around the food in his mouth as he bites into it. Saul contemplates dropping the milkshake into his own lap. Jesse is twisting him into knots today.

"Oh my God," Jesse moans, "it's so good."

Not helping. Saul scowls at his plate like he blames it for everything.

"Hey, don't judge my unconditional love for delicious meat," Jesse says, his mouth still full.

 _Too easy_. "I wasn't."

"You were all frowny."

Saul's judgemental face and inexplicably-aroused face must look the same. He's gonna have to work on that. "I thought I saw a hair in my food," he lies. "It's gone now."

Jesse gives Saul a dubious eyebrow lift before demolishing more of his burger.

They don't talk about Walter White over lunch. Instead, they talk about silly crap, like why Iron Man is cooler than Batman, why movie serial killers wear masks that impair their vision, and if gamma radiation shrunk Bruce Banner's testicles. Jesse's a pretty good conversationalist when they're not discussing Walt or the usual topics in Saul's office. Saul learns Jesse's ridiculously passionate about the improbability of a zombie apocalypse, so Saul lets him talk, enjoying Jesse's enthusiasm and energy.

It's been a while since he's felt so much at ease with another person. Saul doesn't have to put up a front with Jesse. Jesse isn't looking for a legal savior or financial advisor; Saul doesn't need to be on-point with every quip or flaunt his knowledge. It's like they've found that little cusp of friendship where it's okay to say dumb things every now and then or just sit and listen, where it's okay to be flawed and human.

He's distracted mid-way through Jesse's rant about how zombies couldn't maneuver around canyons or large bodies of water, because something nudges against his ankle. Something that might be a foot or a shoe. No, that doesn't make any sense. Why would a disembodied shoe or foot be underneath their table? It's probably a foot inside of a shoe, and—holy shit, is Jesse playing footsie with him?

Saul keeps the surprise off of his face. If this is Jesse's half-assed attempt to flirt with him, reacting with shock might scare Jesse off. He's like a timid deer. Easily spooked. So Saul pretends like it's not even a thing, like he doesn't notice the way the toe of Jesse's shoe slinks up his calf.

Saul's still not completely convinced this is on purpose. Sometimes you lose track of your limbs under a table. You can't see where the other person's legs are. Bodily contact happens. Maybe Jesse thinks he's caressing part of the table, since Saul's tensed up enough in nervous anticipation to double as a table leg.

"Yo," Jesse says with a smirk. "Did I lose ya?"

Saul chokes on a breath. "N—no, no, keep talking, I was just—Hey, how come some zombies are inhumanly fast and some sorta just drag their rotting limbs behind them?"

"'Cause the fast ones technically aren't zombies," Jesse explains, oblivious to Saul's internal panic. "They're 'infected.' Which is just another word for zombie, 'cause they're basically the same damn thing—no matter how much Badger protests they're not."

Later, Jesse orders an ice cream-topped brownie monstrosity. He makes a whole slew of brand new inappropriate noises when he takes a bite.

"Do you need a towel," Saul asks, "or a cigarette?"

"Shut up," Jesse mumbles around the spoon. "You're just jealous 'cause you opted out of delicious sugar."

Saul pouts at him and picks up the other spoon on his side of the plate. Jesse sees Saul's trying to pilfer a bite and smacks his hand away. "Yo, greedy much? Get your own."

"I'm doing you a favor. There is no way you can eat all this," Saul argues, scooping up a big bite.

"Watch me, bitch." It's impossible to sound threatening with a mouthful of brownie and ice cream, but Jesse tries anyway. Bless him. "Stealing my dessert," he grumbles. "Next you're gonna be bummin' my smokes, then you'll borrow my iPod and never return it."

"Why would I want your iPod? I highly doubt we share overlapping music taste."

"You could delete my shit off of it and put yours on."

"Why would I go through all that trouble?"

"'Cause you're an asshole." Jesse wraps his mouth around the spoon in a way that's thirty different kinds of indecent; Saul really wishes he were that spoon right now.

"You said I wasn't an asshole. If I remember correctly, that was one of my defining characteristics."

"Right, but this is, like, a hypothetical situation where you  _are_  an asshole." Saul's trying not to smile at the way Jesse's gone all flushed and embarrassed, but it's not easy. Jesse glares at him. "Ugh, shut up and eat."

"I thought you didn't want me to eat your dessert. You accused me of stealing. That's hurtful. I'm wounded, Jesse."

Jesse shoves the spoon into Saul's mouth to shut him up, which it does. All Saul can focus on is that the spoon in his mouth has also been in Jesse's. It's like they're sharing a weird, indirect kiss. Whatever, he'll take it.

Saul has the rest of the day to himself, and he wants Jesse there too, so after lunch they head back to Saul's place. Jesse paid the tab, so Saul's repaying the favor by being hospitable. Maybe they could watch a movie or have dinner together if Jesse stays long enough.

"Mr. White doesn't know where you live, right?" Jesse asks once they're inside. "He's not gonna drive by and see my car parked out front?"

Saul shakes his head. "I don't give my address to just anybody." He wishes he could claw it back, because there's too much truth in that, but maybe Jesse won't hear it.

Jesse sits on the arm of the couch. Saul still can't get over how good the kid looks in clothes that aren't two sizes too big. "So how come you gave it to me?"

"I guess I saw somethin' in you."

"Like what?"

 _Me_ , he thinks wryly before chastising himself for it. "Somethin' good. Decent." Saul shrugs and moves closer to Jesse. "I don't see a lot of people like that."

"You think Mr. White saw the same stuff?" Jesse asks.

"You'll drive yourself crazy tryin' to figure that out; Walt's the only person who knows what's goin' on in his head."

Jesse nods and stares at his hands. A long handful of seconds pass before he speaks again, but he's not looking at Saul. "I, uh, I—" He stops, swallows thickly, and starts over. "I used to know this girl. Jane. She was so awesome. We could talk for hours about the dumbest shit." Jesse's voice quivers, and Saul knows this is a wound that's never stopped bleeding. Is Jane is the same girl who overdosed in Jesse's house? "She thought my drawings were the bomb. I'd do all sorts of stupid shit to make her laugh or smile or impress her." His mouth's curved into a smile that's brimming with pain. He wrings his hands. "And then she died."

Saul shuts his eyes. Sometimes he hates when he's right.

Jesse looks a little shell-shocked that he's saying this out loud. He rubs his hand over the tattoo on his arm. "I loved her. I didn't—I didn't think I'd feel that kind of connection with anybody else, y'know? Like, you get one shot, and if you don't take it or you waste it..." He shrugs, exhales in a long drag. "But then you gave me your card and—"

Jesse huffs exasperation and rubs his eye with the heel of his hand. When he looks at Saul again the words come out in a rush, like he's been holding them in for a long time. "I like you, okay? I didn't wanna tell you 'cause I thought you'd freak or laugh at me. But you should probably know 'cause I don't want things to be weird between us or anything. But, yeah, I think about you like that, and it's kinda scary, but I think it would be awesome, and, Jesus, would you just say something before I die of embarrassment?" He hides his face in his hands.

Saul cannot stop smiling as he moves in closer. Joy swells in his chest, because Jesse likes him too. This is almost too good to be true, but, fuck it, Saul deserves something nice every once in a while. "I don't think you can die of embarrassment."

"I think we're gonna find out," Jesse says, still hiding his face, which is adorably red.

Saul lays a hand on Jesse's shoulder, making him startle a bit. "C'mon, kid, I can't kiss you if I don't have access to your mouth."

Jesse looks at him, his eyes wide and mouth agape, like he fears this might be some horrible joke. Christ, what did Walt do to this poor bastard? "You—you wanna kiss me?"

"I got a list of things I wanna do with you, but we'll start slow."

Jesse stares at Saul. "You don't—you don't want that," he says, shaking his head, like he's trying to convince himself. "Why would you want me?"

"Jane did," Saul offers, hoping he's not tripping any emotional landmines.

Jesse's lower lip quivers. "She didn't know..." He sniffles. "She didn't know who I am, all the shit I've done. If she did, she wouldn't..."

"Well, I've got a pretty good overview of your, shall we say, history, and I'm still here." Saul gives Jesse's shoulder a light squeeze. "What's that tell you?"

Jesse doesn't answer, but he looks like he's trying to work it out in his head.

"Hey, look, I'll be honest: I wanna get some tonsil hockey action goin' here, but I won't ask you to do anything you don't wanna do. If you think this is too weird or uncomfortable or whatever, that's fine. I won't push."

"If I change my mind, do I still get to come around when Mr. White crawls up my ass?"

Saul makes a face. Yeah, that's a mental image he needs. "Of course, kid. There's no strings attached. I'm not gonna shut that door if you don't want my balls in your mouth."

Now it's Jesse's turn to cringe. "You sure know how to paint a picture."

"You started it," Saul accuses, because he  _so_  did. "You made me think about Walt inside your ass and just—Why? Why would you do that? I thought we were friends!"

His disgust makes Jesse laugh, so Saul can't be too upset about the copious amounts of brain bleach he's going to need. "It's a figure of speech, yo. You're the one who made it nasty. Is that what you think about? Me and Mr. White having sex? Perv." His mouth lilts into a smile.

Saul traces a finger down the length of Jesse's arm. "Actually, I think about you and me. You're the one who forced Walt in there, which, thanks—three's a crowd."

"So it's a threesome now?"

"Why the hell are we having this conversation?" Saul wonders aloud. "This was all a ploy to disgust me enough to change my mind about kissing you, wasn't it?"

Jesse's eyes widen in horror, and he loses all the breath in his lungs. "You changed your mind?"

"God, no," Saul says, with offense.

Jesse presses his lips together and glances away for a moment. "I've never—I've never done this, y'know, with a guy. I don't wanna disappoint you if you like it and I don't."

"Alright, well, how 'bout this: I kiss you, then you tell me if you like it or not, and we'll go from there." Saul moves in close enough that he's standing between Jesse's open legs. Jesse reaches out and wraps his hands around Saul's waist to pull him nearer. Saul watches Jesse's face for signs of doubt. All he sees is a curious sort of desire, so he lays his hands on Jesse's shoulders and tips his head down to kiss him.

Jesse's mouth is softer than Saul would have guessed, even with the rasp of stubble on his upper lip. He thinks about letting Jesse lead, but Jesse's holding his lips there like he's waiting for Saul to do something. So Saul tilts his head a little and licks his way into Jesse's mouth. Jesse goes still—maybe he wants to stop?—but his fingers tighten in Saul's shirt, and he makes a tiny noise in his throat that makes Saul think he's doing something right. He can feel little flares of heat against his cheek when Jesse breathes, short and quick when Saul sucks a kiss into the corner of Jesse's mouth.

It's all sort of chaste and strangely intimate. They break apart slowly, and Jesse's mouth is half open and red like he's been utterly wrecked. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip.

Saul would appreciate an answer here. "Well?"

Jesse smiles, cheeks flooding with color. "I think I like kissin' you." He tugs Saul down for another kiss, which Saul is absolutely willing to provide.

It takes them an hour to get around to picking a movie.


	4. Chapter 4

Jesse feels like he has a lot of experience with secret relationships. He's not sure if that says something sad and profound about him. Jane kept their relationship a secret from her father—which, in retrospect, was probably a good idea. But it hurt at the time, because Jesse couldn't see her secrecy as anything else but proof she was ashamed or embarrassed of him.

Jesse's relationship with Saul now is an entirely different matter, because it might be dangerous for both of them not to keep this whole thing under wraps. They've only been officially dating for about a week, but Jesse doesn't doubt he could fuck this up in that short of a timespan. The idea of Walt finding out is just...no, a whirlwind of no.

Jesse wishes it were easier, though, not to feel like some dirty little secret. He likes Saul and understands the danger of being anything less than clandestine, but he also wants the things everybody else gets to have. He wants to invite Saul over to his place for dinner, to let Saul suck kisses into his neck and leave evidence of his mouth on Jesse's skin. But if Walt ever drove by and saw Saul's car parked outside of Jesse's house, or noticed one of Saul's shirts tossed over the back of the couch...

Jesse's loathe to admit it, but if Walt's going to play the part of a jealous ex-boyfriend he wishes he'd gotten some sex out of the whole deal.

He's mulling about the kitchen one morning, phone tucked between his shoulder and his ear while he drizzles syrup over hot waffles. "Yeah, it looks awesome so far," he says to Saul on the other end. "I'll bring it over next time if you want." He's nearly done building his portfolio; all that remains now are application fees and actually sending it out. He's not sure how he'll fare on the whole financial side of things—it's probably frowned upon to pay for your education with drug money—but they'll cross that bridge when they come to it.

"Of course I wanna see! It's gonna be great." Saul must hear something in the short silence there, because he says, "Hey, Jesse, you know you can come over anytime, right? It doesn't have to be a Walt-related emergency."

"Really?" Jesse's thought about dropping by Saul's office just for the hell of it, or showing up at Saul's house with pizza or take-out for an impromptu movie night, but he didn't think he had permission.

"Yeah! C'mon, you're my boyfriend now; you don't need an appointment."

Something curls in his gut, warm and tight. Saul is his  _boyfriend_. Jesse still doesn't know what to do with that. "You sure? I can just...show up?"

"Maybe call first, 'cause I might be busy, but yeah, you totally have permission to do that."

A familiar knock on the door cuts Jesse's reply short. He turns his head in the direction of the sound. "Hold on," Jesse says. He tiptoes to the door and peers out the peephole. A gasp bubbles out of his throat. "It's Mr. White," he whispers into the phone. "Would you—don't hang up, okay?"

"Sure."

Jesse drops his phone into the roomy pocket of his pajama pants; Saul can listen in to make sure nothing skeevy happens. Genius.

Jesse pulls the door open and decides to cut to the chase. "What do you want?"

"Can I come in?" Walt asks.

"You can, but you may not."

Walt looks surprised. "When did you get so pedantic? Christ, just let me in." He pushes his way inside the foyer.

"Yeah, no, make yourself at home," Jesse snaps. "Whatever. What's got your panties in a twist?"

Walt squints, like he thinks Jesse's been replaced by an identical twin with special, awesome powers of defiance. "My partner at the lab isn't working out."

"So what if he's not in shape?"

"He's not competent," Walt says with an angry sigh. "He doesn't know the recipe. Not like you do."

Jesse lifts an eyebrow. "I thought he was some sort of chemistry genius, like, with degrees."

"Your meth's as good as mine, Jesse. His is...sub-par."

Jesse folds his arms over his chest and stares Walt down. "How come whenever you say somethin' nice to me you always got some bullshit agenda behind it? 'Come cook for me, Jesse. Your meth is totally super-awesome.' Can you just stop workin' me for once?"

"I'm not 'working you'," Walt says, like he's offended by the mere accusation. "I need you."

Jesse doesn't listen. "How does a chemistry genius make sub-par meth? Wouldn't he know all the formulas and shit to make it even better?"

Walt looks a little stunned, like he didn't expect Jesse to catch that on his own. Of course he didn't. That's why he complimented Jesse's cook and threw out emotionally-charged hyperbole like "I need you."

"Just admit it, Mr. White. You miss me."

"Of course I miss you. I care about you, Jesse, despite your insistence that I don't."

Jesse rolls his eyes.

"What have you been doing since I last saw you?" Walt asks, and, wow, that's a loaded question.

Jesse figures there's no harm in being honest. "Drawing. I'm putting together a portfolio for art school. I got a couple places picked out already."

Walt lifts his eyebrows in a particularly skeptical way. "Art? Really? You mean those doodles you drew all over your assignments when you were supposed to be paying attention?"

"That was years ago, man. Let it go. Besides, I'm better now. It's called improvement—y'know, when you do something over and over you get better at it."

"And you think you can make a career out of this?" Walt asks, his voice loaded with contempt.

"Yeah, why not? There's all sorts of crappy artists out there makin' fat stacks. I got just as much skill as them."

Walt shrugs. "One-point five million dollars, Jesse. If you think you can make that much drawing comic books, be my guest. But the door's always open if you change your mind."

"I'm not in it for the money," Jesse bites back. "Jesus, cookin' with you sucked ass. Why would I wanna go back?"

"How do you intend to pay for your schooling? With drug money? You think that won't lead the DEA right to your door?"

Jesse knows Walt's not asking because he fears for Jesse's safety in prison. "Financial aid, yo."

"Won't pay for all of it," Walt finishes for him. "College is expensive."

"I can get a job. Whatever."

"Really? With no experience? In this economy?" Walt watches his face. "And even if you did manage to find a job, how would you balance out work and school? Your study ethic was lacking when you had no other obligations. I can't see you doing a better job of time management now."

"Whoa, Skipper, row that jealousy boat someplace else!" Jesse laughs to himself, because this is the most desperate he's ever seen Walt. It's like Walt knows Jesse won't cook with him, so he's just going balls-out to chip away at Jesse's self-esteem. "I got other shit goin' on. You're not part of my life anymore, Mr. White. Our partnership is over. Done. Finished. Kaput. It has ceased to be. How else can I spell this out for you so you get it?"

Walt's mouth is an angry line, but he must realize there's no point in pushing further, because he heads for the door. "Oh, Jesse, just one more thing," he says as he's standing in the doorway. "Most colleges require a letter of recommendation from someone qualified to speak about your past performance and potential for growth. Someone like, oh, I don't know, a high school counselor, an employer...a  _teacher_."

Jesse sees where Walt's going with this. "Like you would even do it."

"I could be persuaded."

Jesse doesn't say anything, just swallows back the anger building in his throat.

"Think about it, Jesse," Walt says. "Oh, and the next time you see Saul, tell him I said hello."

Jesse feels a cold gust, then Walt's shutting the door behind him as he leaves. Jesse digs his phone out of his pocket. "What is that supposed to mean? How does he know? Did you tell him? Did I tell him?"

"He's just tryin' to rattle your cage. I wouldn't worry too much," Saul says. "The only way he could know is if he hired a PI to follow you, and, if he did, odds are he'd have to go through me first."

Jesse breathes a sigh of relief.

"Don't lose sleep over it; focus on school, alright? You know what they say: a good life is the best revenge."

Jesse's head is still spinning from Walt's visit. "Alright, yeah."

"C'mon, we're gonna be fine," Saul says.

He wants to believe that, but Jesse knows better than to think Walt's just going to leave this alone. "He's right, though. About the letter, I mean."

"You don't know anybody else that could write one for you?"

"Mr. White was, like, the only teacher who gave a shit. Even though he was a total dick about it."

"What about your NA meetings? You got a counselor that could write one up?"

Jesse scoffs. "Oh, yeah, 'cause colleges  _totally_  wanna let junkies in."

Saul sighs like he wants to argue with that. "Hell,  _I'll_  write one."

"Yeah, having a lawyer write me a letter of recommendation won't raise red flags at all."

"You're a sarcastic little shit in the morning, aren't you?"

"When I wake up alone, yeah."

Saul chuckles. "I suppose I walked right into that one." Jesse finds himself smiling. "Don't worry, kid. We'll figure something out."

#

Jesse lies awake in his bed, limbs splayed haphazardly across the mattress as he stares up at the ceiling. He hasn't been sleeping well the past couple of nights due to his own panicky paranoia over Walt's cryptic parting comment. The rational part of Jesse's brain tells him that if Walt knows about them, Jesse would know. There would be shouting and accusations and possibly violence. So maybe Walt has mere suspicions, in that case...what? Is Jesse just not allowed to have nice things because his ex-chemistry teacher/meth cooking partner is jealous? And, man, that sentence sounds fucking bizarre even in his own head.

He scowls to himself. This is a thousand different types of unfair. Of course Walt would throw a bitch-fit about Jesse's love life when touching of a sexual nature might happen at some point. He's pretty sure Saul would be up for that, because when he's got his hands on Jesse there's always a faint sense of restraint to it, like he's struggling to keep things chaste.

But Saul never gave any sort of hint to his interest in Jesse. It had taken Jesse's clumsy attempts at flirtation to open that door, so Jesse figures he'll have to take initiative again if he wants this to happen. But, Jesus, the thought of being in bed with Saul makes Jesse's stomach drop like he's plunged from the peak of a roller coaster. He's got zero hands-on experience with other men's bodies, and, yeah, okay, the basic principles are probably the same, but he's allowed to be nervous about it. He's had a considerable amount of sex, but never with another dick involved. And if Jesse works off of what he likes, Saul might just get up and leave the room.

So, yeah, that's a conversation they need to have at some point.

Jesse groans and shoves his face into the pillow.

#

Jesse shows up at Saul's office the next day around nightfall. It's pretty much empty, save for Francesca milling about the reception booth. "Hey, um, is Saul in?" He doesn't know why he's sheepish about asking at this point; if he had a dollar for every time he's been here he'd be insultingly rich.

Francesca looks up at him and smiles. "Oh, Jesse! Yeah, he was just about to leave. Date night?"

"Saul would probably say 'every night is date night.'"

"Wow. Well, I guess it makes sense. You're young." Her brow creases like she's remembered something. "You don't smoke in bed, do you? 'Cause he won't tell you, but he hates that."

"Then how do you know?"

"The perks of knowing him for what feels like an eternity," she deadpans before tilting her head a little. "I'm a little surprised, though, because Saul's always been somewhat of an ass man."

Jesse feels his face heat up. "Uh..."

She shrugs. "But, hey, maybe it's different with guys. Also, he hates when people say 'supposably' instead of 'supposedly.' I know that one isn't about sex, but I thought I'd share it anyway."

"I'm learning a lot today," he says. He's also kind of self-conscious of his ass now. Is it big enough? Shapely enough? He never worried about shit like this before, but, to be fair, he'd rather worry about the attractiveness of his ass than get the shit kicked out of him in a drug deal gone wrong.

Saul's door swings open, and he pokes his head out. "Francesca, are you bothering Jesse? Because if he stops showing up I'm blaming you entirely. Jesse, get in here." His gaze darts to Francesca. "Good night, Sugar Tits."

Francesca sighs as she stands up to leave. "I really hope you don't call him that."

Saul gives that a moment of thought, then: "Sugar Dick."

Jesse covers his face with his hands and prays for the earth to swallow him.

"You're a piece of shit," Francesca says sweetly before shutting the door behind her.

"Love you too, Frannie." Saul looks at Jesse, who's trying his hardest to be invisible right now. "Ah, we have fun."

"Fun? I think she hates you, dude."

Saul leads Jesse inside his personal office. "She's just jealous she's not dipping her toes in Lake Saul anymore."

Jesse makes a face. "That's a really weird metaphor—Wait, you guys used to date?"

"Yeah, except for the parts where you go out and do things together."

"So...just sex?"

Saul spreads his hands. "We rode that wave of antagonism too long; all the sexual tension had to go somewhere." He leans against the front of his desk. Mr. Casual. "So, what's up?"

Jesse rubs the back of his neck. "Well, uh, I sorta wanted to talk to you about somethin'," he says, his voice oddly cautious.

"I'm a great listener. Talk away." Saul hopes this isn't about Walt. Walter White is the awkward third wheel in their relationship, lingering like the ghost of an old lover.

Jesse glances around the room, as if he hadn't expected Saul to agree and he's trying to find the right words for what he wants to say. "Okay, well, I was just wondering maybe we could, y'know, do something sometime. Like, I know you said you didn't wanna push, but"—he swallows, licks his lips—"maybe I want you to. I wanna be pushed." Jesse's face is the cutest shade of red.

Saul drags in a breath, because when he thinks about pushing Jesse it's usually onto the mattress or over his desk. "Wow, okay, let's—let's start over. You're asking for sex, right? 'Cause I feel like that's what this is."

Jesse blushes harder, which Saul didn't even think was possible. "What we have right now is cool," he stammers out. "I just—I just thought if you wanted to you should know you have, like, total permission to have your nasty, porno way with me."

Saul rubs his hand over his face. "Ah, goddammit, I'm having the dream again, aren't I? Y'know, the one where you show up here after hours to seduce me and we just go for it right here on the desk, like, three times—" Saul freezes, his mouth agape. "Okay, so it's not the dream. This is actually happening."

"We don't have to do everything," Jesse murmurs, toying with the frayed cuffs of his jacket. "But we could do something, if—if you want."

Saul admires that Jesse's trying to shift his comfort zone for him. But he doesn't want their first foray into sexual touching to feel like some sort of obligation Jesse has to him. "Wh—what, right now?"

"No, just, y'know, at some point in the future, like next time we're at your place or somethin'." Jesse stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks away. He  _so_  came here for sex, and that shouldn't make arousal curl in Saul's gut the way it does.

"Did you want to go?" Saul hopes he's not sounding too eager here, but he's just trying to figure out Jesse's intentions.

"Nah, I can chill here for a bit. No rush." Jesse moves closer and steals a quick kiss. Just as he's pulling away, Saul drags him back in and kisses him harder, because he needs Jesse to know he wants just as much as Jesse does.

Jesse's smiling when he breaks away, hands snaked around Saul's waist. "So, um, there was somethin' else I wanted to ask you..."

"What's that?"

"Well, it's more of a favor, I guess." He must find Saul's tie interesting, because he's staring at it like it might come to life and say something profound.

Saul tips Jesse's chin up so he'll look at him. "Go on."

Jesse wets his lips. "Uh, would you ever wanna, y'know"—he shrugs—"crash at my place? Maybe—maybe tonight? I could bring you here in the morning or whenever you decide to bounce. My car's out front."

"You wanna take me home with you?" Saul asks, his mouth pulling into a smirk.

Jesse's eyes widen, like Saul's read something in his words that he didn't intend. "We don't have to do anything. This isn't about sex. It's just"—he rakes a hand through his hair—"I'm sick of Mr. White taking from me. He shouldn't be able to just, like, exist and somehow put all these bullshit restrictions on what we can do, y'know?"

Saul gives that some consideration. One of his favorite things about Jesse is that he's smarter than he seems, than he gives himself credit for. "That's your favor? Coming home with you?" Jesse nods. "Jesus, kid, I thought you were gonna ask me for a kidney. This is—I can do this."

Jesse grins, and his whole face lights up, but the dark circles under his eyes remain.

"Have you been sleeping?" Saul asks.

Jesse's expression crumbles into something sad, and Saul mentally kicks himself for ruining the cute little smile he had going on moments ago. "Not—not a lot. Whatever, it's not a big deal."

It absolutely is a big deal, because if something's keeping Jesse awake Saul wants to know about it. "Does this have anything to do with you staying clean?"

Jesse shakes his head. "I'm fine."

Saul didn't earn this level of intimacy with Jesse by pushing into his personal life. If Jesse wants Saul to know, he'll tell him.

He pulls open one of his desk drawers and rifles through his collection of cell phones. Some are the cheap, disposable kind you can pick up at a gas station, others are more modern and pricey. He hands Jesse a recently-acquired iPhone. "Here. I think we should have a private line, just in case Walt's got a tap on yours."

Jesse seems pleased until he turns the phone over and sees the jeweled case. "Hello Kitty?"

Saul rolls his eyes. "It came with the phone—and, dude, it's free. Don't complain. All the location services are disabled so he can't triangulate your position. Just make sure to keep it on you at all times. I can't help you if he gets his hands on it."

Jesse nods and pockets the phone. "You—you think he's straight-up stalking me now?"

"In the words of Luke Skywalker, 'I have a very bad feeling about this.'"

"Did he say something to you?"

Saul shakes his head. "I'm just being cautious. Hey, sometimes it pays to be paranoid, right?"

Jesse half-smiles. "Right."


	5. Chapter 5

Jesse's not proud of how his first time with Saul ends up playing out. Mostly because it involves him being jittery with arousal and impatient as hell. Which he figured was always going to be a problem, but since he dragged Saul to his house to have sex there's probably an expectation that it's going to be good. Jesse hopes Saul likes disappointment.

Almost as soon as they get through the front door, Jesse starts trying to undress him. Saul nudges Jesse in the direction of the couch, capturing his mouth over and over as they move. Jesse falls back onto the couch cushions and drags Saul down on top of him. Then their hips press together, and Jesse can feel  _things_ , things that tell him Saul is totally into this. He'd worried he was forcing Saul to go through the motions just to satisfy him. But apparently Saul wants Jesse with equal force, and the thought makes Jesse's hips roll against Saul's in an aggressive shove of need.

Jesse's gasping out encouragements around their kisses, his hands frantically unbuttoning and unzipping and shoving underneath clothing. Saul seems to know what he's doing, managing to get Jesse's jacket off of him and drag his t-shirt over his head before Jesse can open all of Saul's buttons. Stupid fucking buttons. Why can't shirts have velcro strips instead of buttons? Some people just can't summon that level of dexterity in the heat of the moment.

Saul stops kissing Jesse so he can dip down and open his mouth around a nipple. Jesse gasps and arches into it, desperate for Saul's mouth elsewhere. Jesse tries to guide him with his hands, but Saul takes his time mouthing over Jesse's chest, his stomach, then back up to his lips where Saul kisses him until he's breathless. "Fuck," Jesse groans around his mouth, "just—just touch me already. Jesus." He hooks his legs around Saul's waist, because there's no way to misinterpret that, right?

Saul takes the hint and grinds into Jesse, and, oh, fuck, that's good. Jesse opens his mouth around a blissed-out noise and rocks his hips into the friction. He starts moaning awkward, dirty things when the heat of Saul's hand spreads out over his stomach, dangerously close to his dick. He shoves his hips up, digs a hand into Saul's hair, the other clutching in his shirt. Jesse can feel arousal coiling tight in his belly, and he knows once Saul actually touches his dick he's going to blow his load so fucking fast it'll be embarrassing for everyone.

But Jesse doesn't even care, because Saul shoves his hand into Jesse's boxers and gets a handful of his cock. Saul swallows Jesse's helpless moan into his mouth and starts stroking him, his fist a little tighter than it ought to be, but Jesse's bucking his hips into it, and the slam of friction is so good it makes him shudder. Saul drags a thumb over the tight skin of his balls, rubs over the underside of his cock near the base, and Jesse fucking loses it, coming apart in his hand like a shattering star. He slurs out obscenities and praises cut through with Saul's name as Saul kisses him through the comedown.

Jesse's shivering beneath him, hips trying weakly to wring out the aftershocks of orgasm. "Fucking—God, that was—Ugh, shit..." he sighs out around Saul's mouth. Saul's still grinding between Jesse's legs, reminding him that, oh yeah, this is a mutual thing. Jesse licks his lips and looks up at him. "You probably wanna get off too, huh?"

"That thought might be bouncing around in my head, yeah."

Jesse nods, shifts a little so he can sit up. "Okay, uh, upstairs?"

Saul follows him into the bedroom where they finally lose the rest of their clothes. With the fog of arousal cleared from his head, Jesse remembers how buttons work. Saul slips his hands inside Jesse's boxers, shoving them and his jeans down his legs in one go. He gets distracted by all the naked skin when he gets Jesse on the bed, mouthing kisses over the tattoo on his chest, the curve of his stomach, the inside of his thighs. Jesse groans, squirms in the soft cloud of a duvet. "It's not my turn again," he mumbles, fingers tangled in Saul's hair.

"Hey, this is the first time I've seen you naked; I'm savoring it," Saul argues. The heat of his breath over Jesse's inner thigh sends electricity up his spine. Saul pays homage to Jesse's bare skin for a while, long enough that it brings Jesse's flagging dick back to life. He whimpers, tempted to reach down and jerk himself off, but Saul chooses that moment to climb up his body and claim his mouth.

Jesse's hands shake when he frees them from Saul's hair and starts exploring the curves and ridges of his back. Every inch of skin is new to him, like Jesse hasn't touched him through his clothes or felt the press of his body. His hands follow the dip of Saul's spine and curve over his hips. Saul's skin jumps under the touch, and Jesse touches him, slow and careful, apprehension about touching another dude's dick forgotten. Saul gasps around a kiss, sighs out, "Jesse," before capturing his mouth again.

Jesse's almost forgotten how hearing his name sighed makes a flurry of emotions build in his gut. He wants Saul to feel exactly like he did when he came, only maybe Saul could last a little longer. Jesse's still embarrassed about that, but he's glad Saul didn't laugh at him or make a joke out of it.

Jesse strokes over him, a little clumsy at this angle, but he's a quick learner. Saul pushes his hips into Jesse's hand to make it easier for him. Their kisses build up a ferocity, and Jesse can tell Saul is close, and he doesn't want him to come just yet. "Hold on," Jesse mumbles against his mouth, and he rolls so that they're lying on their sides, facing each other. Jesse shoves in close and slings a leg over Saul's hip so they're pressed together. He can feel the hard, foreign heat of Saul's dick against his belly, then the smooth slide of Saul's leg between Jesse's own. Then his hips start moving, and, oh, fuck, this is going to be the death of him, because when Saul grinds forward Jesse can feel the taut muscle of Saul's thigh shoving into his balls.

Saul hums a stunned noise in his throat at the slide of his dick over Jesse's skin. His cock is so close to Jesse's it's almost obscene, begging for Jesse to reach down and take them both in his palm, but his fingers are too busy digging into Saul's back and shoulder with every little push. Saul's hand clutches at Jesse's waist as they move together, the other buried in Jesse's messy hair. They're moaning damp flares of breath over each other's mouth, eager hips working in tandem, cocks tight and leaking pre-cum.

"Jesse," Saul breathes out again, but this time there's an edge of warning to it.

"Do it," Jesse coaxes, licking his lips. "I wanna see."

Saul grinds forward until he just  _can't_  anymore, falling over the edge and spilling cum all over Jesse's stomach. Jesse gasps, because that's the hottest fucking thing he's ever seen, and there's about ten seconds of him shoving into Saul's thigh before it all shakes out of him too.

"Oh my fucking God," Jesse pants when he can make words again. That was awesome. He wants to do this all the time. Non-stop. For the rest of his life. Just a tangle of sweaty nudity.

Saul kisses him, open and honest, and, yeah, that pretty much sums things up. His fingers dig into Jesse's waist. "You're shaking," he says with a smirk.

"I just had two fucking orgasms. You'd be shaking too." Jesse unhooks his leg from around Saul's hip, feels the tacky slide between them when he backs away a little. It's messy and kind of gross, but it's real and it's  _them_ , and he wants it.

Jesse pushes himself up on loose limbs, reaches back for Saul's hand to haul him up to a sit. "C'mon. Shower."

He could totally get used to this.

#

Jesse wakes up unusually early and slinks out of bed, taking care not to disturb Saul. He pulls on his boxers and heads downstairs to the kitchen to make breakfast. Heat curls in his belly when he remembers the reason Saul's upstairs in his bed in the first place. Jesse can't stop the goofy smile on his face from spreading. He's glad no one's around to see it.

He can't remember the last time he felt like this, dizzy from dopamine and euphoria. It wasn't like this with Jane. Jesse feels  _safe_  with Saul. With Jane, they were just two kids who couldn't even protect themselves, let alone each other. But Saul has a veritable arsenal of connections and resources. Not even Walt, with all his smarts, had that.

Saul pads into the kitchen just as Jesse's finishing up the eggs. "I thought I smelled food." He's wearing his shirt over his boxers with only the middle button clasped. Jesse lets his gaze linger a little too long, but Saul doesn't seem to mind. "Obviously, you'd prefer  _me_  on the menu."

Jesse's mouth goes dry at the thought of Saul heavy on his tongue. How Saul might sound, the way his fingers might dig into Jesse's hair, the nudge of his hips, the taste... A shiver blasts through him and makes him flinch.

Saul smirks. "Aaand he's back."

"Fuck off, man, it's early," Jesse grumbles, shoving a plate of eggs at him. Maybe offering food will distract Saul from the fact that Jesse's face is as red as a tomato.

Saul takes the plate but keeps his eyes on Jesse. "I take it you're not a morning person?"

"Hell no. Waking up before noon should be illegal."

Saul laughs. "Even if you wake up and have sex until noon?"

Jesse doesn't let himself think about that. "I have no memory of that happening at all," he says with a smirk.

"Hypothetically. You chose to come downstairs instead of waking me up."

"Maybe I was gonna bring you breakfast in bed so we could do that." Jesse grins. "You missed out, man."

Saul shrugs and sits at the table. "It's a no-go anyway. I gotta work today."

Jesse scowls, pulling out the chair across from Saul. "Cocktease."

"Hey, you're the one who fell asleep first."

"Shut up, I was tired," Jesse grumbles, but he can't even be mad about it, because falling asleep cuddled alongside Saul was pretty damn awesome. He wouldn't mind making that a regular thing.

"Oh, do you still need a letter of recommendation?" Saul asks. "I know you said you didn't want a lawyer writing one, but lots of people hire attorneys for civil cases. Doesn't automatically mean you're a criminal. And, hey, it wouldn't even be a lie because you hired me to get this place."

It takes a moment for Jesse to put his thoughts in order. "Yeah, that'd be great, 'cause, uh, most places want two. I guess your chances are better if you can get two people to vouch for you."

"Well, one down."

And one to go. Jesse doesn't want some stranger writing his recommendations; he wants to earn this on his own merit. Since his high school transcript is less than stellar, he's going to need two letters to really sell him to the admissions offices. Walt is a former teacher, and, in a wry sense, a former employer. If just one cook means he gets his letter...

Jesse pushes the thought out of his mind.

#

"Okay, seriously, you ever heard of an air freshener?" Saul chokes out as he slides into the passenger seat of Jesse's weathered Tercel. "It smells like cigarette smoke and sadness in here."

"What the fuck does sadness smell like?"

Saul gestures to the interior of the car. "This!"

Jesse rolls his eyes. "You didn't bitch about it last night."

"I didn't know the smell was part of the upholstery!"

"If you don't like my ride, you're welcome to walk your ass to work."

"Cabs exist."

"Not ones that smell good," Jesse says, and Saul sort of shrugs like he's agreeing. "Now stop bitchin' and just let me take you to work."

"I like the 1950s housewife thing you got goin' here," Saul says as they're pulling out of the driveway. "Making me breakfast, taking me to work... Are you gonna show up at my office with lunch? Because that would be adorable."

"I guess it depends on whether you piss me off," Jesse says, smirking a little. "And I'm still a little wounded; my car does  _not_  smell like sadness."

"You're gonna withhold lunch from me because of that?"

"Dude, there's a Chinese place, like, right next to your office. You won't starve."

"I'd rather starve than eat there. The food is terrible. Tastes like plastic."

"Then I guess you'll just have to be nice to me," Jesse says, like it's some great sacrifice on Saul's part. He switches on the radio; dubstep blares from the speakers.

Saul groans and reaches for the dial, but Jesse slaps his hand away.

"Yo, my car, my rules. I'll tolerate that easy listening crap in your car."

Saul snorts a laugh. "Easy listening? What kind of music do you think I listen to? You've never even been in my car."

Jesse just smiles and turns the music up. "Can't hear you!"

Saul actually looks  _charmed_.

They pull into the strip mall a few minutes later, and Jesse parks right up front alongside Saul's Cadillac. Jesse glances around the parking lot. "I think we're early," he says. The car's gone quiet save for the quiet rumble of the engine. He tosses Saul a mischievous glance. "You wanna fool around?"

"I didn't know anyone still said that."

Jesse frowns. "I'm starting to realize why you're not married. What sane person puts up with this shit?"

"I've had a couple wives," Saul argues.

"That sounds really...polygamous."

"Well, not at the same time."

"How many?"

"Do you really want to know?"

Jesse thinks about it. "I guess not." Panic creeps over him, because this is the second time Saul's side-stepped the topic of sex today. "Hey, did I—did I fuck up somewhere? Is that why you've been turning me down all morning? You can't expect me to be awesome at this immediately, okay? I read somewhere it takes, like, ten-thousand hours to get really good at something, so..." He tapers off, staring at the console, because there's no way he can look at Saul when he's on the verge of frustrated, humilated tears. "Just tell me how to fix it."

Saul pulls a confused face. "Fix it? Jesse, you didn't do anything wrong."

"Then what? Are you just, like, not in the mood?" His eyes go wide. "Am I pressuring you?"

"Pressuring me? I'd be on you right now if I didn't think I'd shoot powdered milk."

Jesse makes a face. "Man, you sure know how to paint a picture."

"Besides, I don't wanna look like I'm only here for the sex."

"I never thought that about you," Jesse says. "Do you have any idea how fucking  _good_  you are? It's even in your name, dude! Because of you I got away from Mr. White and I'm going to college." Jesse realizes he just called his boyfriend "dude." He's not going to think too hard about that one.

"You're giving me too much credit, kid. You did those things. Not me."

"You showed me I could. You gave a shit. So yeah, take the credit." He gives Saul a playful smile.

Saul's about to say something when a black car pulls into the lot on the other side of Saul's Cadillac. Jesse turns his head to make sure it isn't Walt ambushing them in a new vehicle.

"That's Francesca," Saul says. "I better go. She's gonna want all the juicy details."

Jesse turns back to Saul. "Really?"

"No, but I'm offering them anyway." Saul leans over and steals a kiss before Jesse can retort. But Jesse holds him there a little while longer, one hand shoved in Saul's hair and the other tangled awkwardly in his blazer. He's still blown away by the idea that he can kiss Saul whenever he wants, that it's something Saul wants too.

Saul's hand skims over Jesse's waist and underneath his t-shirt. Jesse sucks in a breath around the kiss, feels the heat of skin on his stomach. He follows the curve of Saul's back and grabs something that feels a lot like an ass. Saul nips at Jesse's bottom lip, makes a low noise in the back of his throat.

A loud knock on the passenger side window makes them both jump; Francesca's standing there smirking at them. Saul sits up and scrambles back to his seat. He slides the window down. "Hey, I don't interrupt you on  _your_  dates!"

"I don't have sex out front of where I work...anymore."

"We weren't having sex," Saul protests.

"Yet." Francesca pops open the door. "C'mon, lover boy. If I have to go to work, so do you."

Saul sighs and gets out of the car. "See ya, kid," he says with a warm smile, shutting the door behind him. "I'll have your letter done by tonight."

"Thanks."

"Bye, Jesse!" Francesca waves at him as she and Saul head inside the building.

Jesse leans back in his seat and lights up a cigarette. He thinks about what he said to Saul about goodness, about how Saul wants more for him than just being a methamphetamine manufacturer. He thinks about his remaining letter of recommendation and how he's going to get it. He wracks his brain for anyone who might have nice things to say about him.

_Mr. White can be cool sometimes, but it's never for free, y'know? It's always 'cause he wants somethin'._

Jesse sighs out a huff of smoke. He waits until the skeleton of ash on his cigarette is entirely tapped out, then he dials the number.

He can hear the smile in Walt's voice on the other end. "Jesse? Is something wrong?" Like Jesse might be calling him because his washing machine broke.

"I want the letter up front before I do a damn thing for you," Jesse growls.

"Ah, I see," Walt says, as if mulling it over. "I think you need your letter more than I need you. I have another partner who's quite sufficient."

That throws Jesse off for a moment. "So why were you tellin' me he wasn't workin' out and that you needed me, huh?"

"I never said anything like that."

Jesse grips the phone tighter, his upper lip curling in disgust. "Yes, you did! Just a couple days ago! You showed up at my place and begged me to cook for you!"

"No, I didn't, Jesse. You must be confusing me with someone else. All I did was ask about your schooling."

Could his mind be playing tricks on him? Aside from last night, he hasn't slept well the past couple of days. Maybe his brain is jumbled. Something in his gut tells him he's right, but it's not like he has veritable proof. He shakes off the confusion. "I want my letter first," he says again.

"How long are you willing to wait?"

"As long as it takes."

"You're willing to put your education—your future—off that long? What happens if you lose your chance?"

Jesse grits his teeth. He's already pushing the application deadline for fall, and he's not even eligible for some schools' spring semesters. Time is indeed of the essence here.

"Just one cook, Jesse, and you get your letter," Walt says. "No strings attached."

There's the lie of the fucking century. But Walt's right; Jesse  _does_  need this more than Walt does. So he sighs and says, "Fine."


	6. Chapter 6

Saul wasn't kidding when he called this place a super-lab; Gus Fring's underground meth factory—concealed beneath a generic, industrial-size laundromat—is gigantic. Jesse looks around, awe-struck by the sheer size of everything. "Wow, this is, like, miles above the Crystal Ship."

Walt gives him a look. "What?"

"The RV," Jesse says, like it's obvious.

"You named it?"

"Why not?" Saul would have found that ridiculously charming; Walt just looks like he's questioning Jesse's intelligence. So, the usual expression Walt wears around Jesse.

The lab has lockers for their personal belongings and protective suits for them to wear while cooking. It's all very clean and professional.

Jesse finds that even though he hasn't cooked in what seems like ages, he still remembers the process and the formula. It's sort of like riding a bike, if that bike was made out of aluminum and methylamine.

"So," Walt starts while they're waiting for the meth to cook, "what school are you applying to?"

" _Schools_. Plural." Jesse sniffs. "My top three are Ringling, KCAI, and SVA. But if they don't want me I'm cool with goin' somewhere else."

"Local schools?"

Jesse shakes his head. "There's nothing here that's any good."

Walt lifts an eyebrow. "You know you can get the same education here as you can in California or New York or wherever you're planning on going."

Is that a ploy to get Jesse to stay in Albuquerque? "Maybe not the same opportunities. People from Disney or Marvel or DC aren't gonna give lectures at some random school in New Mexico, yo. They're gonna hit the big-name places. Same with recruiters."

Jesse realizes as soon as the words are out of his mouth that he might have just shot himself in the foot. Walt may hold his letter ransom in exchange for attending a local institution; anything to keep Jesse around in case he needs him.

But Walt doesn't do anything like that. Instead, he nods and says, "Well, you would know. This is your area of expertise." He looks over at Jesse. "I'm proud of you."

A little flicker of joy sparks to life in Jesse's chest, and he hates it. He hates that some desperate, lonely part of him still craves Walter White's approval. Like all of the progress he's made in almost four months shatters into glass when Walt compliments him. Even though part of him knows Walt's just pulling his strings, Jesse can't help but fall prey to his tactics.

Jesse gives him a tight-lipped smile and says, "Thanks."

He gets his letter by the mid-afternoon when the cook is through. After they've changed into their street clothes, Walt actually walks Jesse to his car. As soon as they reach the parking lot, Jesse's cell phone undergoes some sort of text message seizure. He drags it out of his jeans' pocket and clicks the screen on. "Fuck," he curses under his breath when he reads the missed texts from Saul:  _ **Yo bitch where's my lunch? ;)**_

_**No lunch? But I was nice!** _

_**Is it because I called you "bitch"? You can dish it out but you can't take it, huh?** _

_**Not even a "fuck you"? Jesse pls** _

"Something wrong?" Walt asks.

Jesse tilts the screen just enough to keep Walt's prying gaze away. It's probably too late now to show up with apology burgers. "Nah, just—just missed a call."

"Anything important?"

"I'll find out." He opens the driver's side door. "Thanks for the letter, Mr. White."

Walt nods. "Any time, Jesse."

When Jesse gets in the car, he opens up the letter to ensure that Walt didn't write something shitty about him.

_I, Walter White, recommend Jesse Pinkman for admittance to your institution. As his high school chemistry teacher at J.P. Wynne High School, I can attest that Jesse is a hard-working, intelligent young man with plenty of talent and ability. It really is a shame that his transcript does not reflect this; Jesse spent most of his high school career caring for his ailing aunt during her battle with lung cancer, a battle she ultimately lost. Losing his aunt took a toll on him and made it difficult for him to wholeheartedly concentrate on his studies. But the student I saw in class demonstrated an amenable work ethic, dedication, and a kind, giving heart. Jesse will be a magnificent addition to your student body._

The words hit Jesse like a blow to the chest. How fucking easily those months of discipline betray him now.

#

Saul's in the middle of a meeting with a client when his cell phone buzzes with activity. He's not even embarrassed about his mad scramble that involves scattering papers and knocking the phone off of his desk when he attempts to answer, because when he clicks the screen on he sees a text from Jesse:  _ **Yo im not pissed i just lost track of time. Can i make it up to u tonite?**_

Saul writes back:  _ **May I put in a request for some sort of sexy apology?**_

After the meeting's over, Saul finds a response from Jesse:  _ **Would being naked when u answer the door be sexy enough?**_

Saul types:  _ **It's a start. ;)**_

#

"You said you were gonna be naked," Saul gripes when he shows up at Jesse's house that evening. "That's false advertising, buddy."

Jesse lets him inside. "You gonna sue me?" he teases, sticking his tongue out. Saul's tempted to poke it back into his mouth.

"No, but I am gonna complain about it, loudly to whoever will listen."

"Do you realize how risky answering the door naked is? What if it wasn't you? I'm not showing my junk to the pizza guy."

"You didn't cook tonight?" Saul's a little disappointed.

"No, 'cause I did somethin' way better. C'mon." Jesse leads him into the kitchen and presents a plate of large cookies with white chocolate morsels baked inside. Only one problem, though.

"I don't think cookies are supposed to be black."

"That sounds a little racist."

Saul rolls his eyes. "They're cookies, not people."

"Then it's recipe-ist."

"That's not even a thing. You just made that up."

"I think it's appropriate." Jesse shoves the plate at him. "At least try one before you bitch."

Saul picks up a cookie and sniffs it. "It doesn't smell burned."

"Because it's not. They're supposed to be black; they're Domino cookies, you uncultured swine."

"Well, excuse me for not being educated on baking culture." He takes a wary bite, and, damn it, they're actually really fucking good. Saul tells him as much.

Jesse grins. "See, I told you."

Saul's finished with his second cookie when he asks, "So, are these some sort of apology sweets?"

"And apology pizza is on the way."

"All you did was not answer your phone for a few hours."

"So imagine what I'll do when I really fuck up." Jesse gives him a smirk, and Saul can't resist kissing it off of his mouth.

They cuddle close on the couch and play video games over dinner. Jesse doesn't fare so well. "Steal one more goddamn star! I fucking dare you!"

Saul laughs. "I'm pretty good at this, huh?"

"Nobody's good at  _Mario Party_. It's all luck anyway."

"Luck o' the Irish?"

"Oh, eat me," Jesse grumbles, then he shuts his eyes like he's just realized what he said. "You know what I mean."

Saul drapes his free arm around Jesse's shoulders and tucks him up close. "Are you offering?"

He can't see Jesse's face, but Saul can see the flush of heat creeping up his neck. "I will shove this up your ass," Jesse says, jabbing the controller at him in a rather menacing way.

"I don't think you know how insults or thinly-veiled threats work."

"There was nothing thinly-veiled about that. That was a straight-up promise."

"Maybe I should make you a promise in return. Y'know, to raise the stakes a bit."

"Oh yeah?"

"If I win...we have sex, and I get to choose how and where. If you win, same deal, but you call the shots." He grins.

Jesse blushes. "How does that raise the stakes? Both of those sound awesome."

"If you had something particular in mind, I guess you might want the more flexible option." Saul doesn't much care how he gets Jesse off, really, just that it makes the kid's toes curl and his hands clutch the nearest available surface for traction.

"I want you to stop stealing my stars—motherfucker!" Jesse yells at the screen, gaping at Saul like he's just done something awful. "I thought we were friends, yo!"

"You know when a boy picks on you, he likes you?"

"Yeah, I remember hearin' that in, like, grade school. I thought you were s'posed to grow out of that."

Saul plucks at Jesse's over-sized, flamboyant hoodie. "I don't think you should be lecturing anyone on maturity, Hip-Hop."

Jesse glares at him. "Eat me, Counsellor."

"Only if you win."

Saul ends up winning, which Jesse protests loudly for a minute before Saul shuts him up with a kiss. A pretty good tactic, because Jesse sort of melts into it, his argument turned to mush in the face of Saul's kissing expertise. Saul pushes his hands underneath Jesse's hoodie, fingers skimming over his stomach. Jesse gasps and squirms, then his body goes impossibly stiff when Saul wraps his hands around Jesse's ass.

"W—wait, wait, Saul," Jesse murmurs, extricating himself from Saul's grasp. "I—I can't..."

"All talk, huh?" Saul teases, but he keeps his hands to himself.

"No, no, I want to, I do, but I have to tell you something first or else I'll feel guilty about lettin' you do stuff."

"You're pregnant?"

Jesse breathes out a weak-sounding laugh. "That would probably be better."

"Oh, Jesus. Oh—should I—should I get tested?"

That makes him smile. "No, God, it's nothing like that." Jesse goes quiet for a moment, like he's building up some inner reserve of strength. When he looks at Saul he says, "I got my second letter today."

It doesn't take Saul very long to figure out the subtext there. "You cooked with Walt."

Jesse nods, a tragic expression on his face. Christ, no one's face should ever look like that. "I'm sorry. I knew he would do it, and it was just one cook..." He rubs an eye with the heel of his hand. "No, that's a bullshit excuse. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let him..."

Saul pulls Jesse to his chest, letting him take comfort there as the tears begin to flow, and Jesse clutches at his shirt. "Hey, c'mon, don't beat yourself up over it. You did what you thought was best." Jesse sniffles, falling apart in his arms. Saul senses the impending collapse. The best thing for Jesse now is to empty the ache from his chest. "God, if I had a nickel for every time I represented some scumbag just to pay the bills."

Jesse whimpers into Saul's chest, shoulders tensed and fingers gripped in his shirt like he's trying to hold back the wave of anguish threatening to crush him. Saul buries his nose in Jesse's hair. "Is that why you didn't answer your phone?"

Jesse nods his head, and Saul  _gets it_  now.

"I'm sorry," Jesse moans, his words muffled due to his face being pressed into Saul's chest. "I'm such a fucking idiot, I shouldn't have—"

"Jesse, it's okay."

Jesse's body shakes with emotion. "He can't keep getting away with it," he wails, crumbling beneath his guilt and grief, sobs breaking free. Saul holds him in the cradle of his arms and lets him cry as long as he needs to.

When Jesse's sobs slow, Saul says, "You know, I'm proud of you."

Jesse looks up at him through wet, red-rimmed eyes. "Why?"

Saul counts them off on his fingers. "Well, one: you were in a meth lab and you didn't snag any for yourself. And, two: you could have decided the best way to deal with your feelings was to break your four-months-clean record. But you didn't."

The pained expression on Jesse's face softens, like he never considered that at all. "How do you know I didn't?"

"Gimme some credit, kid. I know  _you_." He brushes away a stray tear from Jesse's cheek with his thumb. "You're not the fuck-up Walt wants you to think you are."

Jesse's mouth twitches at the corner, and Saul wants to poke at that thread, make him understand that he's so much more than Walt could ever fathom, but Jesse's wilting in Saul's arms like the crying jag sapped all of his strength.

"You wanna go to bed?"

Jesse stares at him with wounded offense.

"I really could have phrased that better," Saul says with a sigh. "I mean, are you tired? 'Cause if you are I wouldn't mind taking you upstairs—I'm just going to stop talking now."

Jesse breathes out a laugh, and Saul's glad his verbal trainwreck could get a smile out of the kid. He tips his head up to cover Saul's mouth with his own. "Alright, I'll go to bed with you."

They don't have sex, which, if Saul's honest, isn't necessary to have a good time with Jesse; he enjoys the quiet, intimate moments like these where they're curled up together in Jesse's too-small bed, his arm slung around Jesse's waist and hand splayed over his stomach. If Francesca ever learned how much Saul likes cuddling she would literally never stop making fun of him. She'd probably print it on his fucking business cards—Saul Goodman: Attorney at Law/Big Spoon.

Saul can feel the curve of Jesse's ass pressed against his dick, and, yes, of course he's hard, but he's ignoring it. Jesse probably can feel it too, which Saul's a little embarrassed about. He isn't sure if Jesse's awake until Jesse murmurs, "Hey, m'sorry I didn't give you your reward, y'know. I totally screwed you outta sex."

"Don't worry about it. I can take a rain-check." Saul presses his face into Jesse's shoulder and holds him tighter. "Besides, this is just as good."

"Bullshit," Jesse says, a smile in his voice.

"In its own special way, yes."

Jesse yawns and cuddles closer. His ass wiggles against Saul's dick, and Saul sucks in a breath. Jesse doesn't say anything or push his hips back, so Saul figures he's oblivious.

"Would you be offended if I wanted to leave a couple changes of clothes here for when I stay over?"

Jesse stiffens under his hands. "You—you still want..." He trails off, unable to find the proper words. "With me?"

"Your little Top Meth Chef session with Walt today didn't change anything for me, Jesse. I'm sticking around 'til you order me away."

The tension eases out of him. "What, like, a restraining order?"

Saul chuckles. "I would hope you'd just ask me to leave first before going that far. Doesn't look too good on the ol' ledger if I've got TROs, y'know."

"Ain't gonna happen," Jesse says, his voice a rumble in his chest as he lays a hand over Saul's own. "I'm stickin' around too."


	7. Chapter 7

A whole week passes without any interference from Walt. Jesse spends the day sending out his portfolio and application to his top three schools, and Saul's enjoying a low-key day at the office.

At least until Francesca shatters his calm. "Walter White is here."

Saul groans; why can't this asshole make appointments like everyone else? "Hold on." He types out a quick warning to Jesse just in case the kid decides to pay Saul a visit. "Send him in."

Francesca buzzes Walt inside, and he doesn't look too happy to see Saul. Saul forces up a cordial expression. "Walt, your smile just lights up the room."

Walt keeps scowling at him. Tough crowd. "Saul."

"What can I do for you?"

Walt starts pacing around the room like a caged tiger. "It's Jesse. He's—he's completely unreasonable. I just—I cannot communicate with him. It's like he's a whole different person."

Oh boy. As much as Saul loathes being Walt's confidante here, at least he can get an insider's view of what Walt might be planning. Saul can stay one step ahead. "He's not answering your calls?"

"He is rebuffing me at every turn! He won't cook for Fring, no matter how much money I put on the table." Walt's jaw clenches.

"So it's not about the money."

Walt keeps talking, as if Saul's not even in the room. "He has this idea in his head of going to art school. Can you believe it?  _That's_  what he's throwing this all away for?"

Saul grits his teeth and swallows back the fury building in his throat. "What exactly is he throwing away? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like all you two gained out of this little venture is a vacation home on the banks of Shit Creek where you live year-round."

Walt dodges that conversational brick entirely. "And Hank  _knows_  Jesse's involved in the sale of blue meth. What if he decides to go barking up that tree again?"

"Your brother-in-law even looks at Pinkman and he'll be up to his ears in lawsuits. I wouldn't worry about that." But Saul thinks that's pretty good leverage. If Walt becomes too much of a problem, Jesse can always turn state's evidence. Of course, Saul would ensure Jesse gets a sweet deal before giving up one word about the elusive Heisenberg.

Saul doesn't want to spend any more time with Walt than he has to. "Did you come here to talk? Because I'm not your therapist."

Walt moves closer to Saul's desk. Saul meets his eyes, unafraid of whatever he sees there. "I need you to convince Jesse to start cooking with me again."

Is this some sort of ploy on Walt's part to see how far Saul's loyalties to Jesse go? "I thought you had a lab partner."

"Gus decided his services would be better applied in Mexico."

Saul lifts an eyebrow.

"It's only temporary, of course," Walt says, like that makes a difference. Like the "one cook" in return for Jesse's recommendation letter wasn't temporary as well.

"I can talk to the kid, but it sounds like he's got his mind made up."

"You could change his mind," Walt says casually, and, oh, he's  _not_  suggesting what Saul thinks he's suggesting. Is he? "Jesse can be stubborn, but he just needs a little"—Walt searches for the word—"motivation."

Dread crawls into Saul's throat. "' _Motivation_ ' motivation? Refresh my memory, but the last time Pinkman got the shit kicked out of him he decided to go straight. I don't think another beating is going to change his mind."

Walt shakes his head as if he's just as disgusted with the idea as Saul. "Not—not a beating. Jesus. Just...an attitude adjustment."

Saul feels his face burn. "So, what, the  _threat_  of a beating?"

Walt doesn't answer, just makes a face like Saul would judge him if he says it out loud. "If you think that will work."

What kind of sick game is Walt playing? If Walt knows about them, and he's just bandying about the idea of hurting Jesse to see how Saul will react... Son of a bitch. And Saul can't even argue that Jesse  _did_  cook for him once already, since he's not supposed to know that.

Saul fights to keep his tone even. "Well, you know him better than I do."

"Do I?"

"I think you do. You learn a lot about somebody when you live a life of crime together. It's like an outlaw version of a Disneyland trip—fun for the whole family."

"So what kind of life are  _you_  living?" Walt's gaze locks into the couch near the front corner of the room. "Because I see Jesse's brand of cigarettes in that ashtray, I hear him talking like you, and it makes me wonder."

Fear clouds over Saul's brain in a dense fog.

"I wonder what kind of scheme you two have going on," Walt continues. "Did you convince him to go to art school so you'd have money to launder? Because he didn't sound very confident about how he would pay for his schooling."

A laugh bubbles out of Saul's throat. That's Walt's angle? But it makes sense when Saul thinks about it. Walt wouldn't assume Saul was spending time with Jesse out of interest in the kid's well-being. Of course it would be about what Saul could get from him. That's how Walt's brain works.

"That's a pretty wild story," Saul says. "But I don't have that kind of power over Jesse." He had merely suggested art school as a possibility; Jesse was the one who pursued it. "C'mon, you said it yourself: the kid's stubborn as hell. He's young. He doesn't have the C-bomb hanging over his head. He's gonna  _carpe diem_ , as the saying goes."

Walt's face lights up in realization. "That's it. Jesse has always been loyal—it's his biggest fault. What if I had a heart-to-heart with Jesse and told him my cancer is back?"

Saul feels a chill crawl up his spine.

"Yes, I have money, but most of it is tied up, and my family won't have access to it right away. And, frankly, I'd like to have extra just in case. Insurance. As a last favor to me, a dying man, Jesse will cook with me."

Saul actually sees red. He's never been a violent guy, but, holy shit, does he want to deck Walt right now. If Jesse told Saul about his aunt, then Walt definitely knows too. To use that memory of loss and pain just to further Walt's own agenda...

Behind the shield of his desk, Saul tightens his hands into fists. "Well, that's—that's definitely an option. Do you think Jesse would go for that?"

Walt nods. "He will."

Bastard. Saul's dealt with a lot of slimy people in his line of work, but this is the first time he's ever wanted to object to a client's wishes purely from an ethical standpoint. Forget the blowback on Saul himself. This is fucking awful.

"What happens when you don't die, huh? The kid's gonna figure it out eventually."

Walt shrugs his shoulders. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

If Saul's too argumentative, that will only confirm Walt's hypothesis or make him dig deeper. And if Walt learns that Saul and Jesse are having an affair, that could put their lives in jeopardy. So either way, there's no good option. But what choice does he have?

Saul sighs. "Alright, fine. Do what you want; I can't stop you. But I'd like to go on record that this is a really bad idea."

"Duly noted," Walt says, smugly.

When Walt's gone, Saul types out a message to Jesse:  _ **he might pay you a visit. I've got a spare key in the potted plant out front. Be safe.**_

#

When Saul gets home that evening, Jesse's waiting for him in the bedroom. He doesn't give Saul much time to talk, just gets him on the mattress, shoves his pants over his hips and opens his mouth around Saul's dick. Saul's not going to complain while his whole body's shaking under Jesse's lips, but he thinks they need to discuss this meeting with Walt. Jesse can't afford to hear today's events from anyone but Saul.

Saul finally gets his chance to bring the topic up after he's finished swearing and coming, once Jesse's tongue licks him clean, soft and loose and eager. Jesse's lips are wrapped around the sensitive head of Saul's dick, hands flattened over the flare of his hips, because he's new at this and doesn't need Saul squirming around while Jesse's got his cock in his mouth.

"Jesus, kid, where'd you learn how to do this?" Saul groans, because whoever taught Jesse how to give blowjobs must have been a talented fucker.

Jesse looks up at him, pulls off slowly. "It was good?"

Saul pulls Jesse's mouth up to his own, licks the salt-bitter taste from his lips. "I have a hard time believing you're a novice."

"I guess I'm just, like, naturally awesome," Jesse says between kisses. Saul licks at the hollow of Jesse's throat and earns a moan in response.

"We should probably talk about this," Saul murmurs.

"Alright." Jesse smirks down at him. "You gonna give me pointers, or are you more of a demonstrator?"

Saul slides a hand up Jesse's arm, fingers memorizing the sinews and curves there. "I mean  _this_ —the reason you're here in the first place. Your psycho ex-boyfriend. Ring any bells?"

Jesse groans, making a face. "God, don't call him that. I could do so much better." Then he smiles and looks at Saul. "Obviously."

"Well, you know what they say about flattery and where it'll get ya." Saul smooths a hand down Jesse's spine through his t-shirt, and Jesse lies on top of him, his head on Saul's chest.

"I don't wanna talk about Mr. White. Remember what I said about him taking from me?" Saul nods. "If he's all we ever talk about, what do we have here that's just us?"

"He's not all we talk about," Saul says. "Look, I don't bring Walt up 'cause I like the guy. I'm trying to keep you in the loop." He runs a hand through the hair at the base of Jesse's neck. "It's not easy playin' both sides. Shit, I feel like I'm going out of my mind."

"I'm sorry," Jesse mumbles, like Walt being a possessive asshole is somehow his fault.

Saul breathes exasperation into Jesse's hair. "We need to make an apology rule. Every time you apologize for something that's not your fault you have to give me a blowjob."

Jesse laughs. "I have a life to live, Saul. And that's not fair 'cause I don't get anything out of it."

"What about the sense of accomplishment and pride in satisfying your boyfriend?"

"Nice try."

"Hey, it was worth a shot."

Jesse pushes himself up, just enough to kiss Saul's mouth. Maybe Saul doesn't need to tell Jesse about Walt's visit today. Jesse wouldn't believe the cancer story if he heard it from Walt anyway; he'd see it for what it is: manipulation. Besides, Saul can't get enough of touching Jesse like this; he wants to stretch every possible moment.

He's between Jesse's legs, sucking kisses into Jesse's inner thighs when one of their phones starts buzzing on the night table. "Is that you or me?" Jesse mumbles, his eyes closed and his hands fisted in Saul's hair.

"Probably you," Saul says, jarred from his worship of Jesse's body. He sits up, because if Walt's calling Saul needs to be firing on all cylinders. "Go ahead and take it."

Jesse sighs disappointment, rising to a sit, and grabs his phone. His hand freezes when he reads the screen. "It's him."

Show time. Saul scoots closer to offer the comfort of his presence. "Put him on speaker."

Jesse looks at Saul like he's just suggested something inane.

"Just do it."

Jesse does as he's told and answers the phone. "Yo."

"Jesse, hi. Did I catch you at a bad time?" Walt's playing the part of a downtrodden cancer patient perfectly; maybe it's not a lie after all.

Saul skims a hand along Jesse's leg, and Jesse relaxes a little. "No. What's up?"

"Well, I—I just got the results from my last doctor's visit." Meaningful pause. "My cancer is back."

Saul watches how Jesse reacts to this. He looks like he's about to cry, panic and worry etched on his face. But there's a glimmer of doubt there too, like he suspects this could be a ruse.

Saul keeps his expression even. Jesse has to work through this himself. At least for now.

"Oh—shit, for real?" Jesse swallows. "What're you gonna do?"

Walt sighs. "Well, I'm gonna fight this, but I know the odds. I know I don't have much time left, even with the treatments."

Saul frowns but stays focused on Jesse's face. Jesse's lower lip trembles so slightly that Saul wouldn't have caught it had he not been watching for it. "But you, uh, you got money, right? For your family?"

Saul shuts his eyes in pain. Jesse just gave Walt the perfect opening for his gambit. "I do, but I don't think they'll be seeing it for a long time. So much of it has to be laundered, you know, through the car wash."

Jesse lifts an eyebrow and looks at Saul. Saul waves a hand as if to say, "I'll tell you later."

Jesse wets his lips, stares down at the comforter and plucks at a loose thread. "Are you still gonna cook?"

"As long as I can," Walt says.

There's a long stretch of silence. Saul holds his breath, waiting for Jesse to say something. This could be the moment where Jesse breaks free of Walt's manipulation and simply says "have a good life." He could do it. He could—

"Well, uh, maybe we could, uh, do one last cook? Y'know, for old time's sake?"

Or he could fall for it hook, line, and sinker. Saul drags a hand over his face and smothers a groan. Goddamn it, kid.

"I'd like that, Jesse," Walt says warmly, and Saul can just hear the smug satisfaction there.

Jesse doesn't say anything for a while after he hangs up the phone, just buries his head in his hands. Saul wants to reach out to him, but he isn't sure if that's the right move. After a silent moment, Jesse raises his head, rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand and leans over the edge of the bed.

"Whoa, where're you going?"

"I have to—I have to see him," Jesse rasps, reaching out with shaky hands for his discarded jeans.

"Better bring your boots, then." Saul places a hand on Jesse's chest to stop him. Jesse gives him a bewildered look. "You know every single word he said was absolute horseshit, right? No, wait, you  _don't_  know that, because if you did you wouldn't have agreed to cook with him again."

Jesse looks even more crushed. "I'm not an idiot. I know there's a chance he's making it up. But how big of an asshole would I be if he wasn't and I didn't show?"

"Jesse, he's lying to you. He came to my office today plotting ways to get you to make meth with him again! He actually suggested sending someone to beat you up."

Jesse bites his lips together. "He wouldn't."

"He called it an 'attitude adjustment.' Said you just needed the proper 'motivation,'" Saul says, complete with air quotes.

Jesse inhales a shuddery breath.

Saul lays a hand over Jesse's. "And, hey, forgive me for being insensitive here, but so what if he's right? You don't owe him shit. He blackmailed you into this whole meth thing from the start. Has he ever positively benefited your life at all?"

Jesse looks forlorn for a moment, then he chews his lip in concentration. Saul waits for an answer. Then Jesse's eyes widen, and he locks his gaze onto Saul. "I met you."

Saul can't help the little smile that forms on his mouth. "Ah, c'mon, we would'a crossed paths eventually." He gives Jesse a playful nudge to the shoulder. Jesse just wobbles like he's made of Jell-o. Not in a joking mood, Saul guesses.

He feels steel bands wrap around his chest at the worry etched on Jesse's face. Saul's benefiting from their arrangement now; it wouldn't be too much of a stretch for Jesse to read his motives the wrong way.

Okay, he has to try a different approach.

"Look," Saul starts, "if you wanna run over there and play cook, fine. I won't stop you. But let's look at the silver lining; this is an opportunity for personal growth. We can turn this into something positive, right? An intervention, if you will."

Jesse scoffs. "You think I'm  _addicted_  to Mr. White?"

"He's like a drug for you, Jesse. I can see that. And, hey, speaking as your boyfriend, I'd love to be the only guy you get it up for, but speaking as your friend, I understand that maybe you can't live without him; I'm not going to give you an ultimatum and tell you it's him or me. But I think it's worth tryin' to get clean, if only for your own sake."

Jesse looks like he's considering Saul's piss-poor but sadly accurate analogy. "Okay..." Jesse turns his body to face Saul and lays his shaky hands on Saul's shoulders. "Then I need you to distract me."

Saul's never been happier to serve as a distraction.


	8. Chapter 8

Saul gets a spectacularly dumb idea in his head the next day after Jesse's gone home. Since Walt seems determined to get Jesse back, his employer might like to hear about the lengths Walt's going to harass the poor kid. Fring was cautious enough not to meet with Walt initially when Jesse showed up high to their meeting. A man that guarded probably won't keep a stalker in his employ.

So Saul calls a guy who knows a guy who knows another to relay the message to Fring. He keeps Jesse's name out of it, of course, just tells his informant that Walt is stalking, harassing, and generally being a nuisance in a way that might reflect poorly on Fring's operation. Fring ought to at least have a word with Walt about boundaries.

Saul sends Jesse a text:  _ **he shouldn't bother you again. But it wouldn't hurt to be cautious for a little bit.**_

Jesse writes back:  _ **what did u do? do I need a lawyer?**_

Saul laughs, though he's slightly offended that Jesse's first instinct is assuming Saul had Walt killed or grievously harmed. He types:  _ **if you do, I'm here ;) at your service. I'll even waive the hourly fees.**_

Saul's phone dings a moment later:  _ **ur talkin about sex, arent u**_

Saul grins.  _ **Sex falls under my "deluxe" service "package."**_

Jesse:  _ **did u just**_

Yeah, Saul's a romantic.

#

"No, it's not weird at all! It's totally cool. He's awesome," Jesse says, milling about the kitchen on his phone. Badger's on the other end, way too amused by the newest revelation about Jesse's love life.

"No way, dude! You and Saul Goodman?" Badger crows. "Did I wake up in an alternate dimension where my friends are gay?"

"I'm not gay," Jesse corrects, because he likes girls too. "Wait, who else is into dudes?"

"Nobody," Badger says, like he's confused. "But I haven't talked to Skinny yet. Maybe he woke up gay too."

Jesse groans. "God, I did not 'wake up gay,' and you are the worst person I should be talking to about this."

"Dude, you brought it up!"

"Because you badgered me into it—is that where you get your fuckin' name? Goddammit, it's like a warning!" Jesse cannot believe he didn't notice this sooner.

"This is gonna be funny forever."

"You know what? Laugh all you want, man. I'm gettin' laid on the regular."

"Yeah, but it's Saul Goodman though."

"It still counts! And, hey, next time your ass gets busted for possession, I'm gonna tell him not to help you. I have that kind of power now, so don't be an asshole."

"I think you've gone a little power-crazy," Badger says.

"It must be all the dick," Jesse says with an impossibly straight face—a wasted effort, because Badger can't even see him. "Goes straight to my head."

"Was that a pun or just a really bad visual?"

"I'm hanging up now." If Badger can't appreciate Jesse's jokes he can get the fuck out.

"No, wait—"  _Click_.

Okay, maybe Jesse is a little mad with power. He'll try to work on that.

There's a lively knock at the door that Jesse knows is not Walter White's. So that's good. He pads over to the door and swings it open. Saul's standing there in plainclothes smirking at him. "You're not even dressed?"

Jesse becomes acutely aware he's wearing only a baggy t-shirt and his boxers. His bare legs are on display here, and he doesn't know why that makes him feel suddenly shy. Saul's seen him naked, for Christ's sake, mouthed kisses over his entire body. Why the fuck does he feel the need to cover up?

"I, uh, I sorta just woke up," Jesse mumbles.

"Well, get moving, slacker. I made plans." Saul lets himself inside and lays his hands on Jesse's waist.

"You did, huh?" Jesse gives him a coy smile. "I hope they're not time-sensitive, 'cause you know how much I like morning sex." He trails a finger down Saul's chest.

Saul is unmoved by Jesse's attempt at seduction. "It's noon."

"It's morning for me."

"When McDonald's stops serving breakfast, it's no longer morning."

Jesse pouts. "So you didn't bring me breakfast?"

"I'll buy you pancakes if you get dressed."

"I thought you liked me with my clothes off," Jesse says with a salacious grin.

"I'm pretty sure most restaurants have a 'no shirt, no shoes: no service' policy."

Jesse looks down at his legs. "Didn't say anything about pants, though."

"Why are you being so difficult?"

"'Cause I don't like being rushed in the morning," Jesse says, moving up the stairs.

"It's not morning!" Saul insists just as Jesse shuts the bedroom door.

Jesse's upstairs for five minutes before Saul follows him. "Jeez, kid, c'mon, what're you—" He stops talking when he swings the door open and sees Jesse pulling a clean t-shirt over his head. "Wow, okay, you take your time. I'll just stand here and appreciate the view."

Jesse chuckles. "I guess my abs have, like, magical powers of agreeability. No wonder Mr. White stuck around so long."

Saul opens his mouth, closes it. "Did you take your clothes off around him, throw him a bone—er?"

Jesse snorts a laugh. "I hate you."

"Yeah, I kinda hate myself a little for thinking about that."

Jesse sits on the bed and tugs his shoes over his feet. "I feel like we talk way too much about Mr. White's sex life."

"You brought it up the first time," Saul says, pointing an accusing finger at him.

"You're the one who made it gross!" Jesse counters.

"It was already gross!"

"No, gross would be saying how he probably went home every night after a cook and jerked off thinking about my amazing hotness."

Saul looks annoyed, embarrassed, and terrified all at once. When he gets his face in order, he says, "I'm seriously reconsidering our date today."

Jesse hops up from the bed and comes over to Saul, arms linking around his waist. "Aw, c'mon, baby, don't be like that. It's not my fault Mr. White's got a hard-on for me."

Saul frowns. "One more word about Walt's dick and I'm breaking up with you." Jesse just laughs, leads him downstairs and out the door.

Saul swings around the driver's side of the Cadillac. "Oh, sweet, we're takin' your car this time?" Jesse asks.

"Yes, feel privileged. Only a select few are special enough to ride in Steve."

Jesse freezes, his fingers wrapped around the door handle. "You named the car Steve?"

"Yeah?"

Jesse smiles to himself and slides in next to Saul. He looks around the leather interior of the car. "I'm inside of you now, Steve. How does it feel?"

Saul's mouth does that weird pinching thing where he's trying very hard not to laugh. "Behave yourself. I don't want to have these seats reupholstered again."

" _Again_? Do I want to know the story behind that?"

"I'm sure you do, but that one's going to the grave with me."

Jesse laughs, drops his head back against the seat. "I'll get it outta you. I'm very persistent."

"My lips are sealed, kid."

"I could always ask Francesca. She'd be happy to tell me." Jesse grins.

"You're a dirty cheater."

"Good thing you like dirty."

#

"Okay, seriously, where the hell are we going?" Jesse moans, his head lolled against the window as the rush of desert flies by for miles. After breakfast, Saul said the second half of their date was a surprise, which, okay, Jesse could get a little excited about that. But now they've been driving for a bit too long, and he's worrying for his own safety.

"I told you: surprise," Saul reiterates.

"Me and surprises don't have a very good track record. How do I know you're not gonna kill me and dump my body in the desert somewhere?"

"I wouldn't kill you, Jesse, that's ridiculous," Saul says. "I'd have the sense to hire someone to do it for me."

Jesse rolls his eyes. "Ha fucking ha. Always with the jokes."

"Are you bored? Here." Saul reaches over and switches on the radio. Jesse waits for something awful and lame to assault his ears, but he's surprised to hear a familiar guitar lick, and—

"Is that AC/DC?"

Saul looks over at him, like he can't possibly understand why Jesse might find this bizarre. "What? I rock."

Jesse needs a moment to take this in. "I learn something new about you every day."

"I told you: I'm full of surprises."

"Apparently."

They finally pull into an empty parking lot for a building that looks like it's been abandoned for a good while. "Way to go," Jesse says. "We took so long to get here they closed."

"It's not closed if you have a key," Saul brags, dangling the key in front of Jesse's face. "C'mon."

Jesse decides to humor him, because he wouldn't be a good boyfriend if he was constantly critical. He gets out of the car and follows Saul to the door. The huge, flamboyant letters across the top of the building read "Lazer Base."

"Laser tag?" Jesse asks with a chuckle as Saul unlocks the door.

"I hear an unfair amount of judgement in your voice."

"I'm not judging. I'm just surprised, I guess. Why do you have a key to a laser tag place?"

Saul feigns offense "What, you don't?" He gets the door open and lets Jesse go ahead of him before he flips on the lights. "Besides, we don't have to deal with any lines—always a plus—and what are the odds Walt'll find us here, right?"

"God, don't jinx it. Knowing our luck, he will." Jesse watches the neon red, green, and blue lights blink to life, slowly, as if they've woken from a deep sleep. "Mr. White is, like, the devil. He's always one step ahead of everybody else."

Saul kicks his shoes off by the door. Jesse does the same. "I tried to sell him the idea of this place for his little, uh, money laundering venture, but he wasn't too keen on it." He scoffs, gestures to the expanse of arcade games before them. "Crazy, I know."

"Yeah, 'cause when I think about Mr. White, I think about laser tag."

"He's a scientist. Scientists love lasers. C'mon, it's perfect!"

Jesse just laughs to himself. "Do you even know how to play laser tag?"

"Absolutely. It's great cardio, and you get to shoot at kids."

"You big bully." Jesse smirks, imagining some poor little boy storming out of the arena because Saul kicked his ass in laser tag. Then the image follows an entirely new path, winding through his brain like a weed, and makes him blush: the boy latches onto Jesse's leg and sobs, then Jesse kneels down and asks, "Did Papa win again?"

The vision vanishes when Jesse feels his heart catch in his throat. That kind of fantasy shouldn't exist for him—at least not yet. But that hadn't stopped Jesse from imagining something similar with Jane. That had been the night before she died, when they were going to move away and make a new life for themselves...

"I'll go easy on you at first," Saul says, misunderstanding the wounded look on Jesse's face. "Let you get the hang of it. But after that, I play to win." He clutches a hand at Jesse's hip and tugs him in closer.

"You ain't hot shit just 'cause you can beat kids at laser tag."

Saul chuckles, gives him a lopsided grin. "Well, let's find out. Unless you're scared. Which I totally understand. It must be embarrassing to lose to someone almost twice your age."

"Show me what you got, yo."

#

Jesse's hunkered down behind a trio of metal barrels in the dark, listening for any signs of movement, but the only sound is the thump of his heartbeat in his ears. He's down to his last shot; if he's hit one more time, he's done for.

This was the absolute last thing he expected to happen. But, really, would any rational person ever think Saul Goodman would be a goddamn laser tag champ? Jesse's going to go with "no," because any other answer just hurts too much.

He'd dived behind the barrels for cover after Saul shot at him from the south. His hiding spot isn't going to stay hidden for long, mostly due to Jesse's tendency to hiss curses under his breath while he's being shot at. He needs to move now, because Saul probably watched his awkward ass clamor for cover.

Jesse scours the room for a new hiding place, his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The laser tag arena's designed like some sort of underground alien hellmouth, plastic stalagmites and stalagtites on the floor and ceiling. Rubber aliens peer out of dark corners. Biohazard barrels litter the trail. Area 51 on LSD. Up ahead there's a cluster of stalagmites near the wall that form a pretty decent hiding spot...if you're stealthy. If you're not, well, it's probably going to be less Rambo and more Custer's Last Stand.

But that's all Jesse's got right now since he's down to one hit, so maybe he can chip away at Saul's points by the time Saul reaches him.

Jesse tosses a quick glance to the left to make sure Saul's not creeping up behind him. The coast is clear. He makes his move, keeping low and using everything he can for cover. He crawls his way to the new spot, gets to his feet once he's sufficiently shrouded. Jesse backs up until he bumps against something soft and much squishier than a wall or plastic cave decorations.

An arm slithers around Jesse's shoulders, and a plastic gun jabs into his back. A gasp catches in his throat.

Saul murmurs, "Yo," at his ear.

"Fuck." Jesse sighs, tension melting out of his muscles. "How the hell did you get here so fast? I thought you were gonna go easy on me."

"I was."

"Oh, fuck you," Jesse grumbles. "Just shoot me and get it over with."

"I thought you'd be way better at this, with all your talk of surviving a zombie apocalypse." Saul is actually  _gloating_  now. This is cosmically unfair.

Jesse points his gun at his chest and clicks the trigger, his final point gone. "There. I'm dead. You win. Bitch."

"You need to work on your sportsmanship," Saul chides. "I was enjoying this."

"I know, that's why I had to put an end to it."

"You just can't let me have fun, can you?"

"Not at my expense."

Saul's still holding him to his chest, and Jesse's starting to feel things, things that are hard and hot against his ass. Jesse grinds his hips back against Saul's dick, and Saul gives a short huff of air, hand pulling tight at Jesse's waist. His cock digs into Jesse's ass, fingers twisting over his skin.

"Shit," Saul groans low in his throat when Jesse nudges back again, but he shoves forward to meet Jesse's hips.

"Now we get to play something  _I'm_  good at." Jesse doesn't know how to ask for what he wants here, so he keeps grinding against Saul's dick.

Saul bites down on a shuddering breath and pushes his hand under Jesse's jeans. "I don't know, I think I'm pretty good too. Judging from the noises you make." His fingers curl around Jesse's cock, and Jesse inhales, ragged and needy. "Like that one."

Jesse bucks into his hand. "God, just—" He shoves back into Saul's cock. "Get inside me, please, I'm fuckin' dyin'." He doesn't care how unsexy it is to just blurt that out; if Saul doesn't put his dick in him within the next thirty seconds, Jesse's going out of his damn mind.

Saul's hand freezes mid-stroke. "You—really? That's something you're okay with?"

"So fucking okay," Jesse says around a strangled breath, nudging his hips back.

Saul lets his hand fall away, and he steps back, puts some distance between his erection and Jesse's ass. "Well, we're not doing it here. It's too dark."

"Isn't that supposed to just heighten your other senses?"

"Maybe, but I want to watch you. C'mon."

#

Saul leads Jesse out of the arena maze, through the winding labyrinth of flashing lights and video games. He hoists Jesse atop the nearest horizontal surface, setting him on the counter of what looks like an empty prize stand. In a previous life, eager, sugar-addled kids exchanged armfuls of tickets for dollar-store prizes over this countertop; now Saul's going to fuck Jesse on top of it. There's something oddly hilarious about that, but Saul can't figure out what.

He drags Jesse's jeans and boxers down his legs in one go, while Jesse works open the button and zipper of Saul's pants. Jesse wraps his legs around Saul's waist, pulls down the tight edge of his shorts. Then Jesse's got his fingers around the solid ache of Saul's dick, and it takes all Saul has not to buck into his hand. He fumbles for his wallet, snags the packet of lube inside and tears it open with his teeth.

"I don't think that's how—Oh, that's not a condom," Jesse says, watching him stroke the slickness over his cock. "You just carry lube in your wallet in case of spontaneous sex?"

Saul wraps his hands around Jesse's hips and hauls him in closer. "Or in case I get stuck in a doorway."

"Why would that even happen?" Jesse asks, and his voice shakes when he looks down and sees how close Saul's dick is to his ass. "What kind of doorways are you—"

Saul shuts him up with a kiss and pushes his way in. Jesse takes him inside in one long slide, moaning a stunned noise around his mouth. Jesse feels so wide open already, like he's wanted this for ages. He tips his head back and groans encouragement, and Saul bites at his throat, evidence be damned. Saul sucks kisses into the line of Jesse's neck while he rocks into him, hips moving in smooth, wet pushes that make Jesse's hands fist in his shirt like they're trying to pull him closer.

Jesse thumps his heels against Saul's back. Saul captures his mouth again, swallowing the moans Jesse makes as he cleaves into him harder. Jesse's hands drag down his spine, and he murmurs hot against Saul's ear, guiding, coaxing, begging. Saul nudges him back against the counter so he can drag Jesse's t-shirt off and over his head. Jesse's body glows under the neon lights, each curve and sinew highlighted by blue, green, and red. He gasps, a shudder in his throat as Saul's mouth finds a nipple and travels over the tattoo on his chest. Jesse's skin burns under his hands, the juncture of his shoulder catching the red neon.

Jesse makes a desperate sound of approval when Saul plunges in again, and his hands catch Saul's face to kiss him, hot and hungry. Jesse moans, "Yeah, like that, right there," between frantic kisses and thrusts. He's so open and grateful, and it makes Saul want to give him more, shove in harder until his nerves are ablaze.

"I'm—I'm gonna—" Jesse warns in a damp flare over Saul's mouth. Saul slams into the heat of him, fucks him just right until Jesse's head tips back and he's shouting praise as he shakes apart. His orgasm's a fierce grip of heat around Saul's dick, messy stripes over his belly that Saul wants to lick up. Jesse's still squirming and shuddering, moaning, "Yes, fuck yes, God," against Saul's cheek. Saul thrusts his way through the stretch of sharp arousal that crawls up his spine and threatens to burn him alive. He bites down on a whimper, digs his teeth into the curve of Jesse's neck as he comes so hard it hurts, a twist of white-hot pleasure in his groin.

Saul's panting, "Jesse, Jesse," over his skin, pouring hot and wet inside of him, and Jesse groans in contentment, letting Saul fill him up until he's spent. Jesse steals another kiss and curls his fingers in Saul's hair. Saul can feel him shaking in his hands.

"You don't fuck like a middle-aged divorced dude," Jesse says, out of breath.

Saul manages to chortle out a laugh. "Well, you're the expert."

"Bitch," Jesse sighs out, slumping over Saul's shoulders. His hands spread across the width of Saul's back. "Just take the compliment."

"That was a compliment? I thought you were disappointed."

"Dude, I think you came in my brain. Like hell I'm disappointed. We're totally doin' that again."

Holy shit, Saul's dick is absolutely not ready for that. "Yeah, just—just gimme a couple minutes." He dips his head down, his mouth following the wet trail of jizz smeared over Jesse's stomach. Jesse hums contentedly while Saul licks him clean, tongue slow and careful. When Saul kneels and opens his mouth around the too-sensitive head of Jesse's cock, Jesse shudders beneath his lips.

#

It takes them a while to get around to playing any games—at least the ones that don't involve skin on skin—so when Jesse and Saul stagger out of the Lazer Base, woozy with the shaky bliss of multiple orgasms, it's after nightfall.

"Jeez, Danny would shit a brick if he knew what we did in here," Saul says as he's locking up the place.

"Who the fuck is Danny?"

"Danny is someone willing to look the other way to keep his dream afloat." Saul jerks a thumb toward the building.

"So he's cool with turning a blind eye to criminal activity, but two people fucking in his laser tag and suddenly he's got morals?"

Saul leads Jesse across the parking lot, arm slung low around Jesse's waist. "The trick is that he's not gonna know about it."

Jesse smiles and cuddles closer. "You know every time I pass a laser tag place now I'm gonna blush."

"Better than the back seat of a car on prom night, huh?"

"Totally." Jesse's not even ashamed of that earlier fantasy about raising kids with Saul; it's something that he wants, and maybe Saul might want it too. But he'll never know unless he asks. "So, uh," Jesse starts, feigning casual, "do you ever think about maybe, like, in the future—"

A distant slamming sound makes Jesse whirl in the direction of the noise. Then: "Jesse!"

_Oh no._

There's a hideous, familiar Aztek parked along the side of the building. How in the hell did he find them?

Saul voices the sick panic roiling in Jesse's gut. "Oh no, please tell me that's not Walt."

Jesse's knees shake beneath him as Walt storms across the empty parking lot. "Fuck." They have a grand total of two options right now. They could rush to the car, which doesn't seem feasible from here, since they're only halfway across the lot, and odds are someone will fumble with the keys. Or they could stand their ground and hope they can convince Walt not to do something violent and terrible.

Jesse's sick of getting his ass kicked.

Panic takes over. Jesse grabs Saul's hand and bolts for the Cadillac. "Keys?"

Saul's already got the ring grasped in his free hand. "Way ahead of you."

Jesse runs until his legs burn with acid, feet pounding the pavement. He lets go of Saul for the briefest moment to swing around the back of the car. Big mistake. Because Walt isn't gunning for Jesse.

Saul's jamming the key into the driver's door when Walt grabs him by the collar and slams him into the side of the car. "You two-timing son of a bitch!" Walt roars, hands fisted in the front of Saul's shirt. "You're fired!"

"No!" Jesse shouts.

"It was you! You were the one—"

"Mr. White, stop!" Jesse elbows his way between Walt and Saul. "If you want him, you gotta go through me."

Walt's upper lip curls in disgust. "Jesse, get out of the way."

"Why are you even here?" Saul cries. "How did you know where to find us?"

Walt gives Saul a dark, chilling smile. "Why, that's just my meticulousness."

Jesse thinks there's subtext in that sentence, because he feels Saul tense up behind him.

Walt looks at Jesse like he's trying to see straight through him. "Jesse, I won't ask you again. Get out of the way," he says through his teeth, each word acidic and forceful.

Jesse takes a step forward. Adrenaline pounds in his veins. "This is all 'cause you're pissed at me, right? So go on. Take your shot. But you better make damn sure you kill me, 'cause if you don't I'm gettin' back up and takin'  _my_  shot. And I  _don't miss_."

Walt's mouth does something that might be considered a smirk, but his eyes are too angry for mirth. "Are you trying to hurt me, Jesse? Did you think that running off and screwing Saul Goodman— _my_  lawyer—would, what, turn him against me? Just what the hell kind of game are you playing here? After everything I have sacrificed for you, all the money I have spent pulling your ass out of the fire, you shut me out and fuck  _him_?"

Saul scoffs a shaky sound. "God, you are such a piece of—"

"Saul!" Jesse warns.

"What? I was gonna say 'work!' Although, hey, if the shoe fits..."

Jesse pins Walt under his gaze. "Yo, how  _did_  you know? How'd you know where we were, and how'd you know about the other stuff?"

"Did you put a tracking device on my car?" Saul asks, appalled.

Walt shakes his head. "Check your phone," he says to Jesse.

A hand reaches into Jesse's chest and squeezes his heart. He digs his cell phone out of his jeans' pocket, navigates to the settings page with shaky fingers. Underneath the privacy tab, location settings is enabled. "Fuck," Jesse grinds out. How could he have been so stupid?

"I turned it on when you cooked with me," Walt says, then, as if remembering something, he looks at Saul. "Yes, Saul, Jesse cooked with me. He may not have told you, but—"

"No, he told me," Saul snaps. "He also told me about your little blackmail scheme, which, wow, just when I thought you couldn't scrape the bottom of the barrel any harder."

Walt rolls his eyes and focuses on Jesse. "So, yes, I have been tracking you. And I know that you're screwing him because in the last two weeks you've spent the night at his house five times. And I'm willing to bet he was with you at yours the other nine."

Nausea curls in Jesse's stomach. Walt knows where Saul lives. All because of Jesse...

"And those marks on your neck," Walt continues, his voice a rumble in his chest, "aren't bruises."

Jesse gasps. His hand instinctively flutters up to his throat.

"Look, Walt, I hate to be the bearer of bad news," Saul says, "but he's just not that into you. Grow up. Jesus, I feel like we've had this conversation before."

Walt narrows his eyes and takes a step forward. "This time, Mike isn't here to save you."

"Yeah," Jesse says, "he's got me instead."

Walt sighs out a long breath. "I'm sorry, Jesse."

Jesse's split-second of confusion is all Walt needs to snap a kick into Jesse's shin. Jesse screams and hits the concrete. Saul yells, "No, no, not the face!" then Walt's fist smashes into Saul's nose.

A flash of unfettered rage engulfs Jesse. Walt cocks his fist for another punch, but Jesse's faster, like a bullet from a gun. He grabs a handful of Walt's collar and tears him away from Saul. His fist lands square in Walt's face, hard enough to make his teeth rattle. Walt staggers back, retreating, and Jesse advances on him. "Don't make me hit you again, Mr. White."

Walt's face is a mixture of fury, pain, shock, and humiliation. He wipes his nose with the back of his hand, as if he felt blood trickling.

"Leave us alone," Jesse grits out. "I'm done with you."

"We're done when I say we're done." Walt gnashes his teeth. "You really think he cares about you, Jesse? Open your eyes! The only thing Saul wants from you is your money! You're just too stupid to know it!"

Jesse slams his fist into Walt's gut. Walt doubles over, sucking air, and drops to one knee. Jesse throws another punch that knocks Walt to the ground. Jesse towers over him, seething with rage. Walt writhes on the concrete like he's dying. A sympathy tactic, but Jesse doesn't buy it.

"Can you walk?" Jesse asks. Walt does something with his head that looks like a nod. "Then get the fuck out of here, and leave us alone."

Walt doesn't need to be told twice.

Jesse turns his back to Walt's fleeing figure. He looks at Saul and chokes out a gasp. Saul's hand is covered in blood, pressed against his nose to stem the flow. "You are  _really_  sexy when you're angry." He seems to be bearing his injury pretty stoically.

Jesse's still shaking from the surge of adrenaline. He pulls his t-shirt over his head and hands it to Saul. Saul stares at it, bewildered.

"Take it," Jesse says. "Unless you wanna bleed all over Steve."

Saul reaches for the shirt and makes a pained noise when his hand peels away from his face. Jesse can smell the metallic stench of blood. It sticks in his throat and makes him gag.

He turns away and grabs the keys off of the ground before dangling them in Saul's face. "I'm driving."


	9. Chapter 9

"I never should'a let my dojo membership run out," Saul grumbles. Jesse takes a styptic pencil to the split on Saul's lower lip. " _Owowowowowow_! Jesus, just shoot me; it'll hurt less."

"Pussy," Jesse says around a laugh. They're sitting on Jesse's bed while he tends to Saul's wounds with a bit more care than necessary. Saul's not going to complain about that because Jesse's bedside manner is pretty awesome. "You're lucky your nose stopped bleeding on the ride home."

"If you even think about sticking that thing up my nose, I will have to fight you," Saul warns.

Jesse smirks. "You saw what I did to Mr. White, right?"

"You mean first place in my gallery of awkward boners? Absolutely. Did I tell you you're really hot when you're angry? Because I feel it's worth repeating." Jesse crawls behind him, drags Saul's shirt up and off to examine his back for bruising. Some nasty discoloration's started to form between his shoulder blades, where he'd been shoved against the car. Jesse frowns and feathers his fingers over the bruise. It could have been so much worse...

"What're you doing?" Saul asks.

"Looking for bruises."

"And what's the verdict?"

"Your back's gonna look like you got hit by a car for a while."

"At least mine's hidden. Walt's gonna have a tough time hiding that shiner he'll be sporting for the next week or so."

Jesse scoots up close, presses himself along the line of Saul's back. He lays the heels of his hands over Saul's shoulders and rubs. Saul makes a noise of contentment in his throat as Jesse's hands work. "Why are you bein' so cool about this? Not even a threat to sue him?"

"Walt doesn't scare easy, but I think you put the fear in him. Christ, he was practically shaking in his boots." Saul chuckles, purrs when Jesse's palms press at the base of his neck. "Ooh, that's—yeah, right there."

"I don't think he actually expected me to hit him," Jesse says. "I got lucky."

"And Walt wishes he did."

Jesse presses particularly hard, but Saul just moans like he's enjoying it. "You really think that's why he's got so much sand in his vagina, 'cause he wants to fuck me?"

Saul throws his head back and laughs. "That was colorful."

Jesse smiles proudly.

"And, yeah, it's a theory. Speaking from personal experience, I can definitely see how he might go a little crazy over it—well, over  _you_."

"You tryin' to seduce me, Mr. Goodman?"

Saul chuckles, leans into the way Jesse's rubbing the heel of his hand beneath Saul's shoulder blade.

"Nah, for real though, I joke about it, but I think if that's really what Mr. White wanted he would've taken it. He wouldn't try to figure out if it was something I wanted too, like you did."

"I'm nothing if not considerate," Saul says.

Jesse hooks his arms around Saul's waist, rests his chin on his shoulder. "Yeah, you're a real prince."

Saul lays his hands over Jesse's own. He strokes his thumbs across Jesse's battered, purple and red knuckles. "Looks like you went five rounds with a Transformer."

"He's got a hard head." Saul pokes at the discoloration. "Ow!" Jesse winces and jerks his hands away.

"C'mon, put some ice on that."

"I'm fine. It doesn't hurt unless some asshole pokes my fucking bruises." Jesse jabs a finger into Saul's back for emphasis.

"Ah! Why would you do that?"

"'Cause you poked me first. Don't be startin' what you can't finish, bitch." Jesse stabs Saul's bruise again.

Saul curves his back to escape Jesse's fingers. "Ow, ow, okay, I'm calling a moratorium on bruise-poking, alright? Truce?"

"Truce." Jesse crawls around Saul to give him a quick kiss. Saul winces at the pressure, and Jesse frowns. "Shit, I bet Mr. White hit you in the face on purpose to try to stop me from kissin' you."

"Shows what he knows," Saul says before Jesse claims his mouth, slow and careful this time. Saul falls back against the pillows and brings Jesse with him. If kissing hurts, Saul's doing a damn good job of hiding it, his lips moving eagerly against Jesse's own. He curls a hand in Jesse's hair, the other sliding over his spine. "Jesse," he murmurs, following the line of Jesse's jaw.

"'Sup?"

Saul frees his mouth momentarily, a hand lingering at Jesse's face. "What were you gonna ask me?"

Jesse quirks a brow.

"Before Walt showed up, you were about to ask me something."

Jesse feels a stab of pain in his chest that he tries valiantly to ignore. It's not worth bringing up the subject of having kids now, not after Walt's just shattered their calm. If Saul and Jesse aren't safe, a child wouldn't be either. Walt would absolutely use their children to his advantage, pawns to gain the upper hand in manipulating Jesse.

Jesse shakes his head and manages a chuckle that doesn't sound forced. "I don't remember. It was probably somethin' stupid. Don't worry about it."

Saul's fingertips caress Jesse's cheek, then he hesitates, like he senses Jesse's trying too hard to be blasé. But whatever emotions flit across Jesse's face must disappear, or aren't strong enough to make Saul challenge them, because he just says, "Well, if you do remember, run it by me, alright?"

"Sure." Fat fuckin' chance. Jesse knows a sign when he sees one.

#

Jesse wakes up the next morning with his face pressed into Saul's back. The bruises have deepened in an obvious and incriminating way, forming a design that looks like some sort of twisted, malevolent spider web from hell.

He stretches, careful not to disrupt the way one of his legs is nestled between Saul's own. His hips ache in a subtle reminder of what they did yesterday. Jesse squirms at the memory, gives his thigh a little nudge to wake up Saul.

To Jesse's surprise, Saul pushes his hips back to deepen the friction.

"Were you pretending to be asleep?" Jesse asks.

"I was trying to convince myself to get out of bed." Another push, and Saul bites down on a moan. "You're not doing a great job of convincing me."

Jesse smirks, slides a hand over the curve of Saul's hip and pushes at the edge of his boxers. "I'm great at other jobs."

"A gross understatement." Saul lays a hand over Jesse's to guide him where he needs his touch the most. Jesse stays pressed along Saul's back and jerks him off slow and easy, grinding his own hips into the base of Saul's spine until they're both spent.

"I'm still not convinced to get up," Saul breathes out. "I vote we stay here all day." He shifts, rolls over onto his back.

Jesse cannot help the startled yell that bubbles out of his throat when he gets a look at Saul's face. "Ah, oh, God!"

Saul frowns. "Okay, jeez, a simple 'no' would have sufficed."

The bruise over his nose has bloomed into something significantly more multi-colored, with a lot of reds and purples and deep blues. The circles under his eyes look like they're stained with purple-red ink. Not a good look for him. "Dude, your face is just...wow."

"My boyfriend, the wordsmith," Saul grumbles, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "You can't say something like that and expect me not to look."

Jesse follows him into the bathroom. "You should probably take a sedative first."

"It can't be that bad, I mean—Holy Christ!"

"I warned you." Jesse finds Saul looking in the mirror, prodding the discolored skin near the bridge of his nose and wincing every time he does it. Jesse lays his hands over Saul's back. He's not going to tell Saul about the other bruises, because no one will see them but Jesse. Unless Saul's in the habit of taking his shirt off around other people, in which case Jesse really needs to have a talk with him about that.

"I could probably dig out some Elton John-esque sunglasses to hide the whole raccoon eyes thing going on here—"

Jesse interrupts him with a snort of laughter. "You think you could pull that off?"

"Eh, pull this," Saul mutters.

Jesse kisses his cheek, tries not to wince at Saul's reflection, because it's really fucking awful to cringe away from the sight of your boyfriend's face. "Y'know, you kinda get used to gettin' the shit kicked outta you." He pulls open a drawer and plucks out a tube of concealer. "Which means you learn how to hide it."

#

Saul doesn't expect to see Walter White merely days after the whole punching incident. Sure, the bruises have muted into ugly, yellowy browns, but, still, Walt has no business strolling in here like Saul owes him shit.

But Saul knows the value of keeping things amicable, and Walt's a goddamn cash cow thanks to his meth empire, so Saul lets Francesca buzz Walt into his office.

"Saul," Walt starts, sitting in the chair across from Saul's desk. "I would like to apologize for my behavior the other night. It was—it was..." Walt throws up his hands. "I don't know what came over me. Maybe it's just stress. Gus took my lab partner away to Mexico for some cartel business. Hank says there was some sort of big incident there—lots of bodies—so I don't know if Gale will be back."

Saul takes a sip of coffee, glaring at Walt over the rim of the mug. Typical Walt; nothing is ever his fault. No, someone else is always to blame: Skyler, Jesse, hell, even Saul himself. He wishes Huell were here in case Walt gets violent again, but Saul's already dispatched Huell and Patrick to Ted Beneke's place to force him to pay the IRS. Saul wonders if Walt knows how deep in the proverbial shit pile Skyler's in right now.

If Saul wasn't afraid Walt would punch him again, he'd absolutely tell him Skyler gave over $622,000 of Walt's money to her lover.

Instead, he says, "Walt, you punched me in the face," because that's a pretty big issue. "I only get one line of an apology? Christ, I've gotten more genuine apologies out of servers when they get my order wrong."

Walt sighs, like Saul's being unreasonable. "What can I do, Saul? Talking about it won't change what happened."

"Well, it's a start! And, hey, I am seriously rethinking my hourly rate for you, because dodging punches should not be part of my job description!" Walt rolls his eyes. "This isn't just for my sake. Do you think your boss would put up with this if he knew you were out there playing Punch-Out to settle your disagreements?" A flicker of emotion crosses over Walt's face before Saul can place it. "You need to get your shit together before you blow the entire operation!"

"Gus isn't going to know about it," Walt says, and it sounds like a threat. "Is he, Saul?"

Oh, yeah, absolutely a threat.

"Look, Walt, you hit me, I'm gonna be forced to hit back," Saul says, nervous laughter bubbling out of his throat. "I mean, what if you hit the wrong guy someday and he turns out to be an undercover officer? Boom. You just bought yourself a Colombian necktie, because sure as shit Gus isn't going to risk you giving his name up to save your sorry ass."

Walt's about to say something when Saul's office door flies open. Huell and Patrick stand there in various states of panic and distress. "We've got a situation," Patrick says.

What the hell could have gone wrong on the Beneke job? "Oh, Jesus, what?"

Patrick sees that Walt's sitting there and clams up. "You—you might want to step out for a moment," he says to Saul.

Saul heaves a sigh and pushes away from his desk. "Don't touch anything," he warns Walt. Saul shuts the door behind him, and Huell and Patrick lead him outside where they can talk freely. "What happened?"

"It was an act of God!" Huell blurts out. Ol' Huell would not hold up under torture.

"There was an accident," Patrick corrects.

"These are all very nice euphemisms, guys, but you wanna be a little less vague about it?"

Patrick shuffles his feet on the concrete. "So the good news is the check's in the mail!" He forces up a smile.

"And the bad?"

"Well, he tried to run, but he, uh, he didn't make it."

"Meaning?"

"He's not dead," Patrick says, trying to soften the blow of the news, "but he's—he's in a coma."

Saul blinks. "What?"

"He tried to make a run for it," Huell says, "but he tripped."

Patrick punches his fist into his open palm. "Right into the wall."

"Act of God!" Huell insists. "I'm tellin' you!" And, yeah, that's a pretty accurate description.

Saul rubs a hand over his face and seriously considers an early retirement.

#

Saul cancels their date on Monday night, which Jesse totally understands. They usually crash at the other's house each evening or go out on Saul's off days, so Jesse gets why Saul might want some down time to himself. Especially after their last date earned Saul a bloody nose. Yeah, that's one for the photo album.

Then he cancels Tuesday night's date too, says he feels under the weather, and Jesse understands completely. All the stress in Saul's life has bottlenecked since he started dating Jesse; his immune system must be fucked to hell and back. Jesse doesn't know how the guy does it.

Then he cancels again on Wednesday, claiming he's still sick. Jesse worries at first, offers to come over anyway and play nurse. He knows about Saul's tendency to be a total pussy where injuries are concerned, so odds are Saul just has a cold and wants to be a baby about it. But Saul texts him back saying not to bother, that he'll be fine and doesn't want to risk Jesse catching whatever's got him down. Which, okay, Jesse can't argue with that.

But Jesse hasn't heard from Saul very much over the last few days. Usually Saul shoots him one to three unsolicited text messages over the course of a day. Now Jesse's lucky if he gets one in reply to his own.

Jesse's brain is kind of an asshole, so his first thought is that Saul's rethinking their whole relationship since the altercation with Walt, and faking sick is Saul's way of buying time to figure out how to tell him.

Because this is the kind of shit that happens to Jesse. Jane tried to be part of his world too, and look what happened to her. Jesse seems destined to have every nice thing in his life savagely ripped away. Fuck, it's so obvious. Of course Saul's avoiding him. Being involved with Jesse is a fast-track to danger. No wonder Saul wants out.

On Thursday, Jesse stops by Saul's office and finds it closed. The logical part of his brain kicks in and tells him Saul's not avoiding him, because why would he go through all the trouble of closing his office to maintain a dumb charade? Francesca wouldn't stand for it.

So maybe he really is sick, and there's a perfectly logical reason why Jesse hasn't seen his boyfriend in over forty-eight hours.

He drives to Saul's house and lets himself inside with the spare key. "Yo, it's me," he calls into the living room. The lights are off, shades shut to keep the light out. It doesn't look like Saul's been out here in a while; he's not messy, but there's nary a sign of activity.

Jesse tries his luck in the bedroom and hits pay dirt. Saul's curled up in the middle of the bed like a salad bar shrimp, buried underneath the blankets with a fan blowing cold air at him. His cell phone's lying in the empty space on the bed. Jesse knocks on the open door. "You alive?"

Saul stirs at the sound of his voice. "Jesse? I thought I told you not to worry." His throat sounds like it's been rubbed raw with sandpaper.

"I'd be a shitty boyfriend if I didn't at least check on you, right?" He makes his way inside the room and sits beside him on the bed. Saul winces when the mattress jiggles. Jesse lays a hand over Saul's forehead, pushes the sweat-damp strands of his hair back with his fingers. "Jeez, you're a mess."

Even the simple motion of glaring seems to take everything Saul has. "It's getting worse. Is it—is it supposed to get worse?"

"Do I look like a doctor?" His skin burns under Jesse's hand, and his forehead's covered in a sheen of sweat. "When was the last time you ate?"

"Yesterday," Saul says after a moment of thought.

"You want me to bring you something?"

"Don't bother. I can't keep anything down."

"Gross," Jesse says, but he doesn't mean it.

"I feel like I'm dying," Saul whines.

"It's probably just a stomach bug, you big baby." Jesse brings him a glass of water from the kitchen. "Here. Drink up and I'll let you put your head in my lap."

Saul gives him a hateful glower, but he gulps down half of the glass anyway before setting it on the table by his head.

"All of it, yo."

"Jeez, alright, Nurse Ratched," Saul mutters but does as he's told. Jesse gives him a sweet, almost patronizing smile.

"There. You earned your lap privileges. C'mon." Jesse pats his thigh, and Saul crawls closer to lie his head in Jesse's lap. "Aren't you glad I decided to show up?"

Saul makes a grumbly noise.

"You're not feeling good, so I'm going to ignore that." Jesse nestles a hand in Saul's hair. "Have you just been puking your guts up the last couple of days?"

"The puking didn't start 'til yesterday. That's why I stopped trying to eat."

Jesse feels panic ball up in his throat. "How long have you been sick? Since Monday?"

"It's probably just stress. Walt and his wife are gonna give me an ulcer," Saul says, sounding pitiful.

"What happened?"

Jesse swirls his other hand in circles over Saul's back as he explains: "While Walt was trying to make amends for punching me, my A-Team had a complication with his wife's little tax dilemma. So I spent all day pulling our nuts outta that fire, then by Tuesday night I felt kinda queasy, and—"

"Hold up, Mr. White was at your office?"

Saul nods. "He's got some  _cajones_ , I'll give 'im that."

"I thought we weren't supposed to talk about Mr. White's junk anymore."

"That only applies to you," Saul says with a frown.

Jesse's hand stops. "You're awful mouthy for a sick person."

"You'd be bitchy too if your insides wanted to be on the outside."

Jesse decides to be the bigger man and ignore that. He rubs Saul's back again. "Tell me about Mr. White's visit. He just showed up and tried to apologize for punching you?"

"'Tried' is the keyword. He was really bad at it. Sincerity sure isn't his forte."

"Did you tell him to go screw himself?"

"I didn't really get the opportunity. Once Huell and Patrick came by, I had bigger fish to fry than Walt wanting to kiss and make up."

"Does Mr. White know what's goin' on with his wife?"

"I don't think so." Saul chuckles, and it sounds like it hurts his throat. He wipes the sweat off his brow. "Could you move me over by the fan?"

Jesse scoots closer to the other side of the bed so Saul can get some air. "Why don't you try to sleep? I'll stay with you."

Saul makes a noise of agreement, which worries Jesse, because Saul's been bitchy and argumentative about everything today. Jesse settles back against the pillows and gets comfortable. His hand moves soft and slow in Saul's hair until his breathing evens out to unconsciousness. Jesse closes his eyes, listens to the din of the fan, but sleep does not come.

#

The next time Saul wakes up it's dark in his bedroom, and there's a solid heat on the back of his neck and under his face. A horrible, cramping pain works its way through his insides like they're being stepped on. Everything is hot, sweat and fire swirling in his brain. Nausea builds in his throat until he can barely breathe.

He pushes himself up, and the solid form beneath him gives way. "Yo, do  _not_  puke on me, dude," Jesse rasps, taking hold of Saul's shoulders and steering him away. Saul manages to stagger into the bathroom and hurl the contents of his entire body into the toilet bowl. He might be dying, which Saul finds consoling, because he's pretty sure being dead would feel better than this.

He's still dizzy with nausea, his body shaky and much too hot, when Jesse tucks him into bed and brings him more water. "I thought you didn't eat anything since yesterday," Jesse says, hovering at his side like a mother hen to make sure he stays hydrated.

Saul drinks the entire glass, though he thinks he'll just throw it all up again later. "I haven't."

Jesse bites his lips together like he's thinking particularly hard. "You felt fine on Monday, right? What'd you eat?"

Saul turns so the fan's blowing air on his face. "Nothing that should make me this sick. Jesus, the worst food poisoning I ever had was bad sushi. And that only lasted a whole day." Even that had been a more enjoyable experience than this. At least he could keep a glass of water down.

"Did you eat anything that could'a spoiled or gone bad? Milk, meat, salad?"

Saul shakes his head. "Just the coffee I had that morning, but it didn't taste off."

Jesse's eyes widen for a moment. "Wait, hold up. You're not even congested, are you?"

He sniffs. "I can breathe just fine when my lungs don't feel like they're on fire."

Jesse springs up from the bed and paces the floor. "Could you—could you maybe have touched something covered in, like, salmonella?"

"I work in an office, not a slaughterhouse," Saul mutters. His arm dangles off the side of the bed. He thinks about moving it but can't summon the energy.

"Walk me through it, then. What'd you do that day?"

Saul lets out a loud sigh. "I got up, went to work. Walt showed up, then Huell and Patrick told me about Ted. I told Walt to get lost, spent the rest of the day—"

Jesse freezes mid-step. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up. Did you leave the room when Mr. White was there?"

"Yeah, I mean, he's not exactly privy to the whole clusterfuck his wife's got goin' on." The color drains from Jesse's face. "I suggested to her that we involve Walt but—"

"So you left Mr. White alone in your office?"

"Yes, for, like, two minutes! Why? What—" Saul stops talking, because Jesse's hands are clenched into fists, and he's actually fucking  _shaking_. "Should I not have done that?"

Jesse rushes over to his side of the bed. He grabs his shoes and shoves his feet inside them. "Get your shit. I'm takin' you to the hospital," he growls, authoritative and angry, the way he'd sounded during the fight with Walt.

"Why? You know something?"

Jesse hurries to Saul and yanks him upright. "I know why you're sick. It's not a stomach bug. It's ricin."


	10. Chapter 10

Jesse's been through a lot of shit in his life. He's been stuffed in the trunk of a maniac drug dealer's car. He's had his face and body beaten more times than he can count. He's been evicted by his own parents. But none of it—none of it—made him as furious as he is now at Walter White.

If Saul wasn't in immediate danger of dying, Jesse would drive over to Walt's house and fucking kill him right in front of his wife and kids. Walt should thank his lucky goddamn stars right now.

Jesse's shaking from a high-pressure cocktail of adrenaline, panic, and rage as he pulls Saul out of bed. "Ricin?" Saul chokes out. "You're—you're kidding, right?"

"Mr. White poisoned you," Jesse says, anger curling around the words. He digs a pair of shoes from underneath the bed and tosses them at Saul. "C'mon, let's go. You're not dyin' on my watch."

Saul shoves his phone and wallet into the pockets of his sweatpants, then Jesse's hauling him out of the house. He half-drags half-carries Saul to his car and gets him inside. His chest hitches with frantic breaths. It takes him a couple tries to get the key in the ignition, because his hands are trembling and his concentration's ripped to shreds by panic.

_Saul's going to die. He's going to die and Jesse can't stop it. Just like Jane..._

He doesn't understand why the world's blurry and wobbly and shaking until Saul lays a hand over his tattooed arm. "Jesse. We're gonna be fine, alright? Just breathe."

Jesse squeezes his eyes shut to force the tears out, because if Saul's going to die it's ridiculous not to be able to see him clearly in these precious few moments. The thought makes sobs rip through Jesse's lungs.

"Hey, hey, c'mon, kid, you can do this," Saul says, his hand now swirling circles over Jesse's back.

Jesse gulps deep breaths, trying to ease the panic and dread and get himself under control. Saul trusts him. Saul is alive, they're together, and Jesse has a chance here that he didn't have with Jane. There will be time to slip off the edge later.

Fear paralyzes, but anger is proactive. Anger gets shit done. So Jesse finds the ball of fury in his gut and lets it fuel him. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, then he turns the key and starts the car.

"Can you talk me through it?" Saul asks as Jesse's pulling out of the driveway. "How do you know it's ricin?"

Jesse finds his voice. "We were gonna use it to knock off this guy Tuco. It was Mr. White's idea." He grits his teeth at the memory. "He told me how it's practically untraceable and takes a couple days to set in. No one would know we offed the guy 'cause it'd look totally natural..." His hands tighten on the wheel. "Like the flu."

Of fucking course Walt wouldn't show up at Saul's office to apologize; he was there to administer the poison. Bastard. Motherfucking two-faced piece of—

"So he punched me in the face  _and_  poisoned me?" Saul sighs and slumps in his seat. "How? How did he—I would'a been suspicious if he showed up bearing chocolates or somethin'."

Jesse forces his breathing steady, remembering to focus on the anger. "He must have put it in something. Did you have anything on your desk he could've dosed or—"

"Son of a bitch!" Saul thumps his head back against the headrest. "The coffee. He must have dosed it while I was out of the room. Goddamn it." He breathes out, closes his eyes. "This isn't even a cool way to die." Saul winces almost immediately, like he realizes he's slipped up. "Not that I'm—"

"You're not gonna die!" Jesse snaps, fresh tears welling in his eyes. "Not if I tell them it's ricin."

Saul stares at him. "Whoa, no, no no. Lemme stop you right there, kid. You mention ricin in a hospital and the Feds'll cream their pants at the idea of talkin' to you without a lawyer present."

"Do I look like I give even a fraction of a shit right now, Saul?"

Saul studies Jesse's face. "No, you really don't, but you'll change your tune once you're in lock-up."

"At least you'll be alive."

"I have a better idea: let me float the ricin thing. It'll sound way less suspicious coming from me."

Jesse gives him a dubious look.

"C'mon, I got tons of guys who'd like to take a whack at me," Saul says. "Yes, I realize exactly how that sounds."

"Alright, so you say you think it's ricin. That, what, some client with an axe to grind poisoned you?"

"And you stay in the waiting room or go home if the chairs hurt your ass, but don't you dare think about paying Walt a visit."

That's not happening. "He fucking poisoned you! You're not even pissed?" Jesse can't understand why Saul wouldn't want someone avenging his possible death.

"Hell yeah, I'm pissed. But going over there and doing something violent isn't gonna fix anything," Saul says.

"It'll make me feel better."

"That's not who you are, Jesse. You're not a murderer." He says it with enough conviction that Jesse almost believes it.

"Justifiable homicide," Jesse says through his teeth.

Saul shakes his head, gazes at him with faraway eyes. "Don't. He's not worth it."

Jesse wants to say, " _You_  are," but the words catch in his throat.

#

Jesse can't smoke in the waiting room, so he goes out to his car for a cigarette. He turns up the radio to drown the cacophany of thoughts in his head. He watches the ash burn at the tip of the cigarette. Smoking doesn't calm his nerves like it should. For the briefest of moments, he wonders if a hit of crystal would do the trick. Something—anything—to make him feel good and just fucking forget for a while.

Skinny Pete or Badger would have some. It wouldn't be too hard to stop by and ask for a hit. But of course they'd want to know why all of a sudden Jesse's using again, so he'd have to come up with some bullshit reason to satisfy them. Because the truth would just make them tighten the purse strings.

"No way, dude," Badger would say. "You've been doin' so good! Don't break your streak! Wouldn't Saul be, like, totally bummed?"

Yes, Saul would be undoubtedly disappointed in him, though he'd try not to show it. But Jesse doesn't much care, because he needs something to calm him down  _right now_  or he's going to explode.

A plume of smoke shudders out of his lips. Fucking asshole Mr. White. If Jesse can't get a hit of crystal to ease the way his veins pulse in anger and hurt, then giving Walt a piece of his mind ought to be a worthy second place. He jerks the radio down and digs his phone out of his pocket. His fingers find the number before his brain really registers it.

Walt answers on the first ring. Like he was waiting for Jesse's call. "Jesse?"

Jesse struggles to keep his voice even. "You motherfucker. How fucking shameless do you have to be to try to kill your own lawyer 'cause he has what you want, huh?"

Walt decides playing dumb is a good strategy for this conversation. "What? What are you talking about? Did something happen to Saul?"

"I know you poisoned him with ricin," Jesse hisses. His voice shakes around the words. "I know you slipped it in his coffee on Monday when you went to 'apologize,' so cut the shit."

"Jesse, Jesse, just—just calm down. I assure you I had nothing to do with whatever happened to Saul. I paid him a visit on Monday, yes, but that's  _all_  I did. I didn't poison him, or whatever you're insinuating—"

"You are so full of shit!"

"Why, Jesse? Why would I try to kill Saul?"

"To get back at me!" Jesse wails, his control slipping. Sobs rack his chest and punctuate nearly every word. "Because I won't cook for you! And this is your way of ripping my heart out before you're dead and gone!"

"What could I possibly gain from any of this?"

"Me! You think if you get Saul out of the way that I won't have anybody left but you, right?" He squeezes his eyes shut and lets the tears roll down his cheeks. He has to get control of himself or else Walt's going to use his vulnerability to manipulate him. Walt will play mind games and trick Jesse into believing anything but the truth.

"Jesse, Jesse, just—listen to me," Walt begs. "Saul is high-profile, and he's done too much good for both of us. If what you're saying is true, it doesn't make sense for me to kill him."

"What, 'cause you're a stand-up guy all of a sudden?"

"Because this is a business, and I conduct myself in a professional manner. I do not go off poisoning people who do things I disagree with."

"Right, you just punch 'em instead."

Walt sighs. "That was a lapse of judgement. But I swear on my life, that is as far as I'll go."

Jesse feels anger flare up again like a rash in the face of Walt's lie. "No, no, see, I know you. I know how you operate: you plan shit. You were stalkin' me for about a week before you tracked me and Saul down. The whole ricin thing with Tuco, the fulminated mercury, keepin' Badger outta jail, your explanation for why we were gone when Tuco kidnapped us... You're the genius, Mr. White; do the math. You wanted Saul dead, and this is exactly the way you'd do it," Jesse says, seeing red. "Like the flu, right? He'd never know. Did you really think I wouldn't figure it out? That I'm an idiot?"

Walt's breathing angrily on the other end, like he's starting to panic. "This is—this is crazy, Jesse! Why would I want to hurt you?"

"Because I love him! And he loves me."

"Whatever lies Saul told you—"

"They're not lies, asshole!" Jesse snaps.

"What has Saul done for you, Jesse? Let you smoke cigarettes in his office? Get you off a couple times a week? Launder your money?" His voice grows dark, contorted with rage. "Everything  _I_  did—Emilio, Krazy-8, Tuco—was to save your life!"

Jesse scoffs a humorless laugh. "Yeah, well, it wasn't for free, was it?"

"You'd be dead by now or shooting up in some god-forsaken crack house if it wasn't for me!"

The words hit him like a slap, and Jesse actually winces. It takes him a moment to shake off the sting. "If Saul dies, I swear to God, I'm going right to the DEA and I'm tellin' them everything,  _Heisenberg_."

There's a terse moment of silence on Walt's end. "Jesse, no..."

"I'll lead your brother-in-law right to your little secret lab and blow the whistle on your whole empire. What do you think he'll say if he knew why you  _really_  bought that car wash?"

Walt might gasp a tiny sound of shock.

"That's right. I know about everything, and I'm not afraid of you anymore. Saul will help me make a deal. I might never see the inside of a prison cell. But you...nah, you'll die in there. Your dickbag brother-in-law will be screwed. And the Feds'll snatch up your money so fast it'll make your head spin. Your family won't see a damn dime."

Walt's stunned silence makes Jesse smirk.

"You take away the only thing I care about, I'll do the same to you," Jesse says. "I will burn you down." His heart pounds in his chest as he waits for Walt's reply.

"If that's true, if I did poison Saul, don't you think I knew how much to give him to make sure he would die?"

Jesse hangs up, stares at nothing in particular for a moment. He puts the car into drive and leaves the hospital.

#

Jesse's pretty sure this is the worst thing he's ever done. Saul made him promise not to rush off heady with anger, but how can he not thirst for vengeance when the first person he's loved since Jane could slip away from him?

His hands clench around the steering wheel. Walt's house lies merely yards away. Jesse's lost track of how long he's been sitting here. He isn't sure what his plan of action is, just that he wants to destroy Walt, make him suffer. Simply turning him in doesn't feel like enough; at worst, Walt lives the last few years of his life in a comfortable prison cell with three square meals a day. Some punishment. If Saul dies, Jesse could tear the world apart and it would never be enough.

Bile rises in his throat. He could call Walt, fake an attempt at reconciliation, just enough to get Walt to come out of that house. Or he could storm in there now and wreak havoc, because Walt didn't care what effect his actions would have on Jesse's life—why should Jesse extend that courtesy to Walt's family? Fuck Walt and everything about him.

Jesse grits his teeth, fury crashing into him like a wrecking ball. Oh, Walter White will pay dearly for this. He will suffer in ways unimaginable.

Jesse opens the car door. A pair of headlights blink on and blare from a short distance behind him. His heart hammers in his chest, and in those brief seconds of hesitance the driver of the mystery car gets out and stalks toward him. Fear roots him in place. Will he have to kill this person too, or will they kill him first?

The stranger shoves Jesse's car door shut, and that's when Jesse recognizes the man. He'd been the one to clean up the evidence at Jesse's place after Jane died. Mike, Jesse thinks was his name.

"Saul Goodman sent me."

A wild jolt of panic hits him. "He's alive?"

"Why don't we go back to the hospital and see for ourselves?" Mike says.

Jesse's hands clench into fists. "He poisoned him," Jesse says, nodding at the quaint little house before them. "He can't—he can't get away with it..."

Mike nods like he understands. "He won't. And neither will you if you go in there and put a bullet in his head."

"I don't care."

Mike puts his hands on the door where the window's rolled down. "Is killing Walter really worth it?"

"Worth what? If Saul's dead..." Jesse's throat swells, and he swallows back the clotted emotion. "If Saul's dead, there's nothing left for me."

Mike makes a face. "Don't let him hear you say that. Saul cares about you, kid. And when he pulls through and finds out you killed Walter—no matter how much the bastard deserves it—it'll break his heart."

Jesse squeezes his eyes closed, shutting out the fierce and savage hatred. Every muscle in his body craves retribution. But the reason Jesse's here right now—the reason Jesse fell in love with Saul—is because Saul believes in him. Saul trusts that Jesse's capable of great things, has faith that he's better than this. To kill Walt and prove Saul wrong...

"I can get Walter canned if it makes you feel better," Mike says. "I know his boss—most cautious guy you'll ever meet. If Walter made the poison at work, it would be caught on camera."

And so would Walt's tactic of usurping Jesse's phone to stalk him.

Jesse whines an agonized sound. "If—if it was you—If he poisoned somebody you love—"

"I'd probably kill 'im," Mike says. "But you wouldn't."

Saul had said something similar. Maybe Saul and Mike know Jesse better than he knows himself.

"Now let's go back to the hospital so we can be there for Saul when he wakes up."

Walter White will never know how close he came to being worm food.

#

Saul wakes up slowly, like he's been dead for God knows how long and his body's rusted over from disuse. His eyes flutter open and blink away the medicated, shower-curtain haze of his vision. Glaring fluorescent lights buzz above his head, and there's an obnoxious beeping sound coming from his left. Nausea's no longer burning a pit in his stomach, but it's been replaced with an emptiness that's just as painful. His brain feels marinated in molasses.

Jesse's sprawled out the best he can in a cramped hospital chair, sound asleep at Saul's bedside with his head lolled on his shoulder and the hood of his sweatshirt drawn tight. Saul reaches out with the arm that doesn't have tubes snaking down its length and lays his hand over Jesse's. Jesse flinches awake, and a smile spreads over his face when he sees Saul.

"Time for my sponge bath already?" Saul's voice crackles like old paper.

Jesse grins and drags the chair closer to his bed. "Yeah, you got one of the hot nurses."

Saul smiles. "The hottest."

Jesse drops his head, but Saul can see the way his mouth's turned up at the corners. When he looks at Saul again, he says, "Thank you...for sending Mike, I mean. If he hadn't been lookin' out for me..."

"I hope you didn't think it was because I didn't trust you."

"I wouldn't trust me either," Jesse says with a shrug. "You made the right call."

"So did you," Saul reminds him. "It  _was_  ricin."

Jesse's brow furrows. He takes Saul's hand between his own, lips pressed together like he's debating his words. "I couldn't save Jane," he says after a moment, bleakness in his eyes. "I woke up, and I found her. I tried, but she was already..." He trails off, but Saul knows where that sentence was headed. Jesse sniffles and rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand. "If that happened to you—"

"But it didn't," Saul cuts him off. There's no point in going down that road. "You saved my life. If you hadn't been there with me, I'd be pushin' up daisies right now."

Jesse flinches away, the words a hot iron on his skin. He hugs himself like he's cold. His mouth's twisted into a pronounced frown, as if he's struggling to keep his composure.

"Hey, kid, you okay?"

Jesse shakes his head. "How come you're not pissed at me? If it wasn't for me, you'd never have to worry about Mr. White comin' after you."

Saul feels his heart break in his chest. That Jesse could ever believe this was somehow his fault... "This isn't on you, Jesse. Walt's special brand of crazy would'a latched on to someone else if it hadn't been you. Don't take it personally."

Jesse doesn't say anything, just looks distressed and conflicted.

"Besides, in my line of work I was overdue for an attempt on my life. At least it wasn't violent."

Jesse rubs a hand over his face. "Just—is this, like, the last straw for you? Aren't you sick of bein' in danger because of me?"

"That's a pretty loaded set of questions."

"Just answer. Please."

"Alright, yes, I am," Saul admits. "But I'm not goin' anywhere. As long as it makes you happy, I'm stickin' around."

Jesse finally smiles. He takes Saul's hand again and says, "Promise me."

Saul thinks they've come full-circle now. "I promise."


	11. Chapter 11

Jesse takes Saul home once he's released from the hospital. He hovers while Saul gulps down a bottle or two of water, even helps him get undressed before Saul insists on privacy for a shower. It's not that Saul doesn't appreciate Jesse's concern, but Jesse hasn't left his side since he came to. It's almost like Jesse doesn't want to leave Saul alone ever again, which is troubling all around.

Jesse hadn't been able to save Jane, and he's had more time to grow attached to Saul than he did with her. Toss in a snatched-from-the-claws-of-death experience, and you've got a recipe for debilitating attachment issues.

Or maybe the kid's just paranoid Walt might make another attempt on Saul's life. But Walt's not a total idiot, even when he's blinded by emotion. He wouldn't risk it, not when Saul and Jesse both have their guards up. But Saul's got Huell stationed outside, just in case.

Jesse waits for Saul to step out of the shower before getting his back against the mattress and sucking his cock. Saul lets him take what he needs, digs his fingers in Jesse's hair and gives himself over to the way Jesse's mouth works soft and slow around his dick. It's still sinking in for Saul that he could have easily died and lost this spiky-haired idiot who's recklessly in love with him. Because, yeah, Saul's crazy about him too, and he wants the chance to spend the rest of his days in the spaces Jesse's carved out of his life.

Jesse's curled up alongside him when they're finished, pressed together in a tangle of sheets and limbs that feels like home. Saul has an arm curled around Jesse's waist, tucking him up close, while Jesse uses Saul's chest as a pillow. Jesse's been awfully quiet since they got home. Saul wants to get him talking again, because Jesse's just not himself when he's not jabbering animatedly about something.

"God, I'd kill for a Big Mac right now," Saul says, nestling a hand in Jesse's hair. "And some fries. And maybe one of those flurry ice cream things. Yeah, I definitely need some ice cream in my life. You hungry at all?"

Jesse shrugs. "I guess."

"C'mon, nothin'? Chicken nuggets? Cheeseburger deluxe? Filet-O-Fish?" Saul sighs. "My arteries are hard just thinkin' about it."

"Then go. Isn't there a McDonald's, like, a minute from here?"

"Yeah, but that would require me to get up."

"So send Huell out."

"Last time I had him pick up food for me, he ate my fries and drank half my Mr. Pibb on the drive back. Called it a 'delivery charge.'"

Saul thinks the breathy noise Jesse makes is supposed to be a laugh. "You gotta tip the driver, yo."

Saul grabs his phone off of the night table and types his order in a text to Huell. "What do you want?"

"Surprise me," Jesse says in a tone of voice that implies he hates surprises.

Saul doesn't let Jesse's grumpy mood quash his excitement. "Done." He sets the phone down and gets his hand in Jesse's hair again. "Greasy, delicious trans fats are on their way."

Jesse is quiet for a moment, then he murmurs: "What about Mr. White?"

"He can get his own damn food."

"You know what I'm talkin' about."

Saul does, and he feels like Jesse wanted an actual answer to that question. "Mike can get the guy fired. What else is there?"

"Turnin' his old ass in," Jesse says roughly.

"That's a hell of a gamble."

"So, what, you just want him to lose his job at a meth lab? He tried to kill you."

"Yeah, and he failed. That pisses him off way more than anything. Because now he's lost you too."

Jesse doesn't say anything, just makes a grunting noise, but oddly enough it sounds like he's listening. "Alright, so what if he decides he wants to finish the job? Sure, I threatened him with taking him down if you died, but get Mr. White pissed enough and maybe he won't care."

Saul thinks that one over. "I don't think he would do it anytime soon. He would wait, bide his time 'til the perfect opportunity pops its head up."

"Gee, that's comforting." Jesse spreads his hand over Saul's stomach. "Nothin' like living in fear forever."

"Yeah," Saul sighs, "I guess we do have a little Shit Creek action happening. But we can always buy a paddle."

Jesse tilts his head and looks at him. "How?" Christ, those eyes—a man could get lost in them; Saul thinks maybe he already has.

"Well, there's a way—and, I mean, this is end-game—but there's a way to just...disappear. Off the grid entirely."

"Like, what, witness protection?"

"Better." Saul feels the heat of Jesse's breath against his skin. "I can get us in touch with a guy who can, for a substantial fee, make us disappear. Give us whole new identities."

"How come you never told me about this before?"

"Because there's no comin' back. Say goodbye to friends, family, pets. Well, I guess you could take pets. But this is one of those last-resort options."

Jesse's fingers start to move, drawing lines and swirls on Saul's skin like they're tracing over invisible tattoos. He goes quiet for a moment, and Saul fears the worst.

"I mean, hey, if you really wanna stick it to Walt, let's sail off into the sunset and live happily ever after while he dies angry and alone." Saul chuckles, trying to inject some mirth into his words, but there's far too much truth there, and he knows Jesse hears it.

Jesse gives him the bewildered eyes again, and his hand freezes. "Is that somethin' you'd wanna do...with me?"

"If it was what you wanted, hell yeah."

"But what about your job?"

"It travels," Saul says. "C'mon, there's no shortage of people who need lawyers." Jesse relaxes under his fingers. "I think this would work out great for us. We could wait 'til you get an acceptance letter, so there's no need to do the whole long-distance thing when you move away for school. And we'd be away from Walt."

But Jesse's focusing on the negative, as he's prone to doing. "You'd be giving up everything 'cause of me."

"It was really just a matter of time before I had to leave town. At least I get to be with you. If—if you want. I totally understand if you think this is too much and you just wanna disappear...alone. Singular. By yourself."

Jesse lifts his head to give Saul a horrified look. "What? No way! Are you crazy?"

"I'm just letting you know you have options."

"I'd rather have you," Jesse says, crawling closer for a kiss. His lips move against Saul's before Saul has a chance to catch his breath. When Jesse breaks away, his eyes are exuberant with love, and Saul feels the truth of Jesse's words in his soul. The fact that Jesse's still here, that he didn't leave as soon as things went to shit a thousand times over, Saul thinks that says a hell of a lot.

"I can live with that."

#

Jesse stays with Saul for three days until Saul finally makes him go home. He said Jesse's hovering bedside manner was "bordering on creepy," which Jesse took offense to and reminded him that if it wasn't for Jesse's "creepy interference" Saul would be dead right now; Jesse is absolutely going to use that as a free pass as long as he can.

Saul told him he's going back to work despite Jesse's protests of not being ready. Then he muttered something about overprotective boyfriends and being treated like he's made of brittle sticks.

On Monday, Jesse wakes up in his own bed around noon, which is kind of disorienting after waking up in Saul's for the past couple of days. With everything falling back in its proper place, the ricin fiasco seems like a disturbing nightmare.

He goes outside to check the mail and finds the usual: junk mail, a couple bills, more junk mail... But one of the letters makes his heart stop cold in his chest. This is either the first of three rejection letters, or he's been accepted to Ringling College. Holy shit.

There's no way he's opening this by himself. He's not emotionally prepared for either response. Jesse grabs his phone and shoots a text to Saul with shaky hands.

He's pulling on a pair of jeans when Saul writes back:  _ **Good news or bad news?**_

Jesse's kind of amazed that Saul found his text coherent, because about only fifty percent of the words were spelled right.

_**idk im too scared to open it alone. this could either be rly awesome or rly bad and u need to be there for me** _

Saul types:  _ **This better not be a ploy to check on me.**_

Jesse knows Saul well enough to know that's code for "come on over." So he drives to Saul's office where Francesca's idly filing her nails at the reception desk. She smiles when she sees Jesse. "Oh, look, it's Mr. Knight in Shining Armor himself."

Jesse rolls his eyes, but he can't help but smile, because it's hard not to feel slightly awesome about saving Saul's life. "He actually told you?"

"I can get anything out of Saul if I put my mind to it." She smirks. "Also, I might hate you two a little for having names I can't smush together into a decent couple name."

Jesse gives her a blank stare. "What?"

"Goodman, Pinkman. It's like they're already combined!" She waves him to an empty seat. "I'll let him know you're here."

"I have to wait in line to see my own boyfriend?" Jesse can't help but feel that's a little unfair. "I saved his ass, yo."

"You could probably use that to win any argument with him for the rest of your life," Francesca says.

Jesse laughs. "I totally plan on it." He takes a seat in the waiting room and tries to keep his leg from jackhammering. The letter feels like it's burning a hole in his jeans' pocket. He thinks about taking it out, holding it up to the light to read the first few lines, but that would defeat the entire purpose of his visit.

Saul's ready for him after ten minutes of excruciating wait time. "C'mon in, kid. Show me what you got."

Jesse hurries inside and takes the letter out of his pocket. His hands shake as he sticks his finger under the edge of the envelope. "Fuck, I can't do it." He sighs and shoves the letter at Saul. "You do it for me."

Saul smiles. "It's probably good news. I mean, if they sent your stuff back the envelope would be a lot bigger."

Jesse shakes his head. "There's nothin' to send back; I submitted everything online." Saul's watching Jesse with a curious look on his face. "Would you just open it already?"

He tears open the envelope with the fancy letter-opener on his desk. "Alright, but if I'm right and you got in, you owe me dinner tonight."

"Yeah, sure, I'll take you anywhere you want."

"No, you have to cook."

Jesse sighs. "Seriously? You're givin' me a chore?"

"A 'chore.'" Saul snorts a laugh. "I'll make it worth your while." He wiggles his eyebrows.

Jesse's too nervous to be aroused right now. "Fine, whatever, I'll cook for you. Just kill the suspense and tell me."

Saul plucks the letter out of the envelope and unfolds it. He doesn't say anything. Jesse feels like he's going to explode with anticipation. Saul's got a stupidly-good poker face here...at least until he smirks and hands the letter to Jesse. "It's a pasta kind of night. What do you think?"

"No way." Jesse snatches the paper to see for himself. If Saul's being a dick and playing a joke on him—

_Oh._

It's not a joke. Jesse actually got in.

"Yeah, bitch!" He leaps and punches the air like he's in a bad 80's freeze-frame. When he's no longer airborne, he looks at the letter again, staring at the words as if they might rearrange into something disappointing and terrible. But they don't. This is totally, one hundred percent real.

"I don't want to say 'I told you so,' but—" Saul stops talking when Jesse seals their lips together. He chuckles around the kiss, takes Jesse's face in his hands. "I told you so," Saul says when his mouth's free for a moment, before Jesse drags him back in again.

He might be crying a little when he breaks away. "This is—this is it, right? We can get outta here and start over. You and me?"

"Well, now we know where we're goin'." Saul gets his hands around Jesse's hips and pulls him in close, presses his lips to his forehead. "You gonna tell your parents?"

"Part of me really wants to see the looks on their faces," Jesse admits, smirking. "'Yo, your screw-up son got into his first-choice college and has an awesome, supportive, rich, sexy-as-fuck boyfriend.'"

"How to give your parents a heart attack: a novel by Jesse Pinkman."

He grins at Saul and steals another kiss. "You should come with me. They'd appreciate the visual aid."

"Maybe not. The last time your parents and I were in the same room, I might have coerced them into letting you buy the house."

"Good thing I don't need their permission to date you," Jesse says, and Saul kisses him until they're both breathless.

#

_One year later..._

A raucous techno beat blares in Jesse's ear. He thinks he's in a nightclub with really familiar, awesome music on rotation. He blinks an eye open and finds himself in his bedroom, cloaked in darkness. The music's coming from underneath his head. He shoves his hand beneath his pillow and drags his cell phone out. The caller ID reads: Badger.

This better be important.

Jesse sighs, slides free of the sheets so he doesn't disturb Saul. He steps over discarded papers and sketchbooks spread over the floor like landmines. His phone really needs to shut the fuck up, so he hits the answer button and whispers, "Dude, it's two in the morning! What the hell do you want?"

Badger groans. "Oh, shit, dude, I'm sorry! I forget about the time difference there! How's Florida workin' out for ya?"

Jesse gets into the hallway, edges the door closed behind him. "It's cool, I guess. Our place is nice."

"Cool, cool." Badger sounds like he's stalling, which doesn't fill Jesse with much hope.

Jesse keeps moving, down the hall and into the living room. Saul goes into work early and probably wouldn't appreciate Jesse jabbering away, interrupting his beauty sleep. "So, what's up?" he asks, trying to nudge Badger in the direction of the reason he called.

"Oh, well, uh, y'know, hey, I can—I can just call you back later, right? I didn't mean to wake you."

"Whatever, it's cool. I don't have class 'til, like, noon anyway." Jesse does not like the way Badger's skirting the issue. Christ, what could have happened back in Albuquerque?

"You sure? I mean, I can totally—"

"Just tell me why you called before I figure out a way to punch you through the phone."

"It's Heisenberg," Badger says. Jesse feels a small ping in his chest. "He's dead."

The words cut through him like a knife wound. Jesse's legs give out from beneath him, and he drops onto the couch. When he finds his voice, it's impossibly small: "What?"

"Yeah, dude just dropped dead. Y'know, from the cancer."

His world feels like it's been ripped open, gutted in a belly slit. It wasn't a lie. His cancer really  _did_  come back... "So—so nobody offed him, right? It was...it was natural?"

"Yeah—hey, Jesse, you okay?"

Jesse realizes his cheeks are wet and he's sniffling. "I'm fine, I just—I didn't know." He rubs his eyes with his free hand. "Nobody knows, right? About who he really was?"

"I don't think so. I mean, the dude died of cancer. There's probably not gonna be a huge investigation or anything."

So Walt's legacy dies with him. Fring might continue making the blue meth with Walt's partner, but as far as Jesse's concerned Walt's out of the picture. Jesse is free. So why does it feel like a giant piece has been ripped out of his chest?

"So, like, you can come back, right?" Badger asks. "After you're done with school, I mean."

"I don't know, maybe." Jesse's thoughts are jumbled all to hell, like someone shook his brain too hard. His eyes leak tears, and he can feel his control slipping. "Hey, listen, I gotta bounce," Jesse says, his voice low and rough. "I'll, uh, I'll catch you later, alright?"

Badger seems to hear the waver in Jesse's voice and lets him bow out gracefully. "Yeah, sure. Peace."

Jesse barely manages to hang up before seeing becomes impossible. He smothers a sob in his throat, then he starts crying—awful, gut-wrenching sobs that make it hard to breathe. He tries keep quiet so Saul doesn't hear his pathetic cries, but he just  _can't_ , his body spasming with sobs, hands clutching uselessly at hair that's too short.

He's not alone in his agony for very long. Saul pads out into the living room and finds him there. A small, angry part of Jesse hates that he's shedding tears for that asshole Mr. White, which makes him cry more hysterically until Saul sits beside him and takes him into his arms.

Another small part of Jesse craves a different set of arms, a set of arms that will never again hold him. Guilt crashes over him, and he digs his hands into Saul's shirt.

Saul doesn't push for an explanation, just holds him there and lets Jesse sob into his shirt. It lasts longer than Jesse ever thought it would, but Saul stays with him for it all. He doesn't push or ask questions until Jesse's cried himself out in his arms, sniffling weakly into his chest. "You wanna talk about it?" Saul asks.

Talking about it will bring on another wave of hysteria, but this is something Saul needs to know about. Jesse manages to whimper out, "Mr. White's gone," before the sobs break free again.

Saul just sighs and says, "I'm sorry."

"I—I know I shouldn't cry for him," Jesse says through hiccuping breaths. "But I loved him. I really did. God..." His voice breaks, and he buries his face into Saul's chest. "I'm sorry. This—this isn't fair to you."

Saul's hand is warm on the back of Jesse's neck. "Hey, hey, don't think like that. You're allowed to be upset."

"No, no, no, no," Jesse whines. "He tried to kill you. I shouldn't—I should be glad he's dead. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Nothing's wrong with you, Jesse," Saul murmurs.

Jesse wants to argue that—because, really, he's mourning the guy who treated him like shit and tried to kill his boyfriend—but he doesn't have the energy. He uncoils in Saul's arms, and Saul brings him back to the bedroom and tucks him into bed. Jesse cuddles close when Saul slides into bed alongside him, craving the warmth, the contact of someone familiar.

Saul lets Jesse's eyes leak tears against his shirt, doesn't push for more than Jesse's willing to offer, because Jesse's fading fast. It's been a while since he's cried like this; he'd almost forgotten how exhausting it is. He falls asleep at some point in the night, chest still hitching with tired sobs while Saul murmurs reassurances over the crown of Jesse's head.

When Jesse wakes up, the buttery glow of morning sun shines through the blinds. His head's pounding like someone's driven a railroad spike through it; hangovers are even less fun when they're not the product of a raucous night out. He ought to replenish his fluids since he probably cried all the water out of his body earlier.

Jesse forces himself out of the warm comfort of his bed. He staggers down the hallway, smells the tempting aroma of maple syrup and bacon. The kitchen's even more sun-drenched than the bedroom. He squints his eyes. Saul's making eggs over the stove. The microwave display reads 10:21 a.m.

"You took the day off?" Jesse asks, voice scratchy in his throat.

Saul looks up. "Yeah, I thought I'd stick around in case you needed me." He sets a steaming mug of coffee on the kitchen table after Jesse sits down.

Jesse stares into the cup. "If I stay here, I'll just end up thinking about it all day."

"Not with me around."

"Nah, I think I'll go."

"Too late. I already called in for you," Saul shoots back, a warm smile on his lips. He fixes Jesse some bacon, eggs, and a stack of pancakes and sets the plate in front of him.

"Prick," Jesse mumbles, but there's no heat to it. He nibbles on a strip of bacon. "Did you make plans?"

"Nothing concrete. We can go out if you want or just stay inside. I'm flexible." He wiggles his eyebrows.

Jesse's mouth tugs into a smile. "Hell yeah, you are." He'd worried that Saul's charm would fade by this point, that his lame jokes and wordplay would elicit fake smiles and placating laughter. "And damn good at makin' pancakes," Jesse says around a mouthful of delicious buttermilk goodness.

"I'm a man of many talents," Saul admits, making his own plate. When he sits across from Jesse, he asks, "Did you want to go back?"

Jesse makes a noise of confusion, his mouth full.

Saul measures his words, like he thinks Jesse might be offended. "To Albuquerque? Y'know, for the funeral..."

Jesse shrugs. The word doesn't strike him the way he thought it would. He feels numb, like his heart's been rubbed raw with grief. "I dunno. You think I should?"

"This is between you and Walt, kid. Three's a crowd."

"Not even gonna give me a nudge in the right direction?"

"I told you I'm staying out of this," Saul says. "I'm Switzerland. This has to be entirely your decision. Plus, last time I got between you two I ended up in the hospital, so forgive me if I'm a little apprehensive."

Jesse tries not to feel guilty for that. Old habits and all. He pokes at the food on his plate while he thinks this over. After all he went through with—and for—Walt, Jesse feels like he ought to show up and pay his respects. Sure, the dude was a dick, but considering all the shit Walt had to deal with Jesse thinks being a dick is a pretty good defense.

But Jesse would only be showing up out of a warped sense of obligation to a man who manipulated him and treated him like shit. Wouldn't attending the funeral be yet another manipulation under Walt's belt? Maintaining his vise grip on Jesse from beyond the grave?

Saul breaks Jesse's concentration. "Hey, I'm sorry. I won't talk about it again."

Jesse shakes his head. "It's okay. I'm not—It doesn't bother me. I thought it would. But I just...I don't really feel anything now."

"You're not sad?"

"I guess," he says with a shrug, "but it's not..." Jesse rubs a hand over his head, tries to figure out how to explain this. "I loved Mr. White, but as sad and shit as I was last night, that was nothing compared to how I felt when he poisoned you. Saul, if you died, I didn't even want to be alive anymore."

Saul looks mortally wounded, the way a child might when they're told Santa isn't real.

"So, this? I'd take this all day every day as long as you're here to balance out the clouds." Jesse knows who he can't live without, and it sure as hell isn't Walter White.

"Just call me Sunshine," Saul says with a smile.

"Alright, Sunshine, bring me some more syrup. Pancakes be gettin' dry as hell, yo."

Saul rolls his eyes good-naturedly and fetches him the bottle. "Maybe if you spent more time eating instead of talking..."

"Maybe you should just hush and do what I say, bitch," Jesse says, drizzling the syrup over his pancakes.

Saul slips behind Jesse's chair and lays his hands on Jesse's shoulders. "Ooh, I love it when you take control like that."

"You like it when I call you a bitch?"

"It has a certain ring to it." Saul smirks, sits in the empty chair across from him. "I've got a bit of a kink."

"Sounds hot," Jesse says around a mouthful of pancakes. "I know what we're doin' today."

"At least it's something I'm good at."

Jesse laughs, and the glint of the silver band around his third finger catches the light, reminding him of all the reasons he said yes.

 

_The greatest good you can do for another is not just to share your own riches, but to reveal to him his own. ~ Benjamin Disraeli_


End file.
